An Agent of SHIELD
by Tsubodei
Summary: Clint Barton wasn't the only lost soul Coulson recruited. Meet George Samuels, a scarred youth who grew up in a weapons smuggling organisation. He'll get recruited by SHIELD and play a role in both the movies and TV show. Starts pre-Iron Man. Non-romantic OC. Includes: Coulson, Fury, Clint, Nat, Bobbi, Ward, Mack, Tony, Pepper, Fitzsimmons, May, Skye
1. Chapter 1

**This story is heavily OC, but unlike most OC stories where the character is created to fall in love with one of the main people; my guy simply plays a part in the movies and TV show.**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Marvel characters and plots**

Coulson opened the door to Fury's office and walked over to the desk, file in hand. Fury was sat there, feet on the table, leaning back, casually reading a piece of paper.

"Sir," Coulson began and Fury looked up from his paperwork, eyes evaluating the agent in front of him. "We have a lead." The atmosphere in the room instantly shifted. Fury quickly put his feet down and leaned forward, reaching for the file Coulson carried. "He's going to be in Nigeria in three days."

"Are you certain?" Fury asked, opening the file and looking at the intel.

"No Sir," Coulson replied. "But this is the closest we've got." Fury nodded, their prey was an elusive son of a bitch.

"Get on a plane, and bring the bastard in."

"Sir," Coulson finished, leaving Fury to look through the file. Phil had preparations to make.

…

Coulson walked up the ramp and into the cargo plane. Where they were going required subtlety, thus Coulson wanted to ensure that they fit into their surroundings. A battered cargo plane would fit in with the rundown freight airport they were going to in Nigeria. If anyone there witnessed what was inside the plane, their cover would certainly be blown. Either side of the jet was a row of seats, the rear was occupied currently by a strike team, of ten, fully equipped and in tactical gear. The nose held the surveillance crew, the small team of analysts, who were sat in front of their computers, updating the intel on their target. The strike team sat up straighter as Coulson passed, each nodding their head in greeting. When he reached the nose, Agent Sitwell stood and Coulson shook his hand.

"Sir," Sitwell greeted. "The pilot's ready when you are. ETA 11 hours hence."

"Let's get us in the air," Coulson replied, sitting in the chair next to the Lieutenant in charge of the strike team.

He was not a fan of Sitwell and didn't particularly want to sit next to him for half a day.

"Sir?" Lieutenant Riley questioned. Coulson turned his head to the right to look at the mass of muscle sat beside him. Riley was forty-two, ex-Navy Seal and an incredible soldier. Coulson was 100% confident that Riley, accompanied by his team, could get any job done. "The target, how long have we been after him?"

"9 months," Coulson replied. Riley whistled, continuing to clean parts of his weapon.

"And all we've got is a few photos of him in a hat." Coulson smirked.

"You make my work seem so important."

"Soldiers need spies Sir. Someone's got to get the intel."

"Let's just hope it pays off," Coulson finished, putting his sunglasses on and settling down for a kip. It was going to be a long flight and afterwards they would need to travel to the drop-off strip and prepare for their guests to arrive.

…

The strike team were all in position, concealed in the trees and the bush-land around the abandoned landing strip. Coulson took residence in one of the rusted freight containers near the main hangar, taking the role of over-watch. He would instruct the strike team from a hidden location as he was able to see the events through the cameras on their helmets. They had been waiting all morning before there was finally some action.

Along the dirt path, a train of jeeps sped, music blaring and weapons raised to the sky. Coulson had witnessed it before, child soldiers and blood-thirsty men; the rebel militia. The train came to a halt beside the middle of the landing strip and a man wearing a red beret walked out onto the strip, cigar in his mouth. "Shut-off the music!" he yelled, with his Nigerian accent. The jeeps instantly went quiet. "Listen," he said quietly and the roar of a turbine could be heard approaching. Soon a cargo plane, even more battered than SHIELD's decoy one came into view and made its descent. Coulson got excited when he recognised the vehicle, the intel was good, their target was here. The man wearing the beret slowly walked off the strip as the plane landed and came to a halt just past the gathered crowd.

After a few moments, the side-door of the plane opened and a man in a red sun-hat and dark shirt stepped out, his face was covered by the shadow.

"Target acquired, 5ft 10 male, red hat. Confirm?" Riley stated.

"I confirm," Coulson replied. "That's him alright. We need him alive, understood." "Yes Sir."

"Wait for my mark."

The target walked out towards the militia, keeping his head bowed, he never let anyone see his face. "The fuel," the target stated. 'Beret' whistled, motioning his hand towards the plane and three men jumped out of one of the jeeps carrying red canisters of fuel and a tube. "The fuel goes in the right rear," the target guided and the men set to work.

"Your boss strikes a hard bargain," 'Beret' announced.

"We sell the best."

"I want to inspect my stock," the Nigerian stated. The target then climbed back into the plane, coming back with a wooden box and placing it in front of 'Beret'. Too nervous to open it himself 'beret' got one of his men to open the container and hand him the brand-new AK-47. "I will give you 200,000." The target stroked his hand along his jaw.

"The deal was 300,000." The situation suddenly grew far more tense and SHIELD's strike-team's fingers got closer to their triggers.

"I'm changing the deal," 'Beret' announced pulling a pistol on the target. The man didn't even flinch, he just continued to glare at 'Beret'. "Take the 200,000 and leave." 'Beret' then motioned for his men to start unloading the boxes on the plane; they quickly did so.

"I thought you knew who you were dealing with," the target stated, watching the cargo being loaded onto the jeeps. "We will not allow this to go unpunished."

"Then we will destroy the evidence, make it look like your plane never arrived. You never know when an engine failure could drop you into the oceans. Any last words?" 'Beret' asked as he cocked his gun. The next few seconds were a blur when everything happened at once.

The target grabbed 'Beret's hand, twisting it until he heard a pop, causing the weapon to be dropped, before he pulled out a knife from his belt and stabbed the leader in the chest. At the same time, the men refuelling the plane had dropped their equipment, leaving a trail of petrol as they hurried to aid their leader. Coulson, however, wasn't going to let their target be killed, thus the strike team came out of the trees, shooting the members of the militia who had their guns aimed at their target. They were able to either detain or injure the children, Riley would not have their deaths on his, or his men's shoulders. The target had managed to take out a few more of the militia with concealed knives and upon seeing the strike team made a run for his plane, but quickly stopped when he saw that one of the militia left standing had thrown a grenade towards the plane. "Shit," he stated, turning back towards the jeep as the grenade blew, igniting the trail of fuel on the ground and blowing up the plane. The target was thrown forward by the blast and slammed into one of the doors of the jeep, falling to the ground. Winded, he coughed on the floor and was about to get up when his hat was knocked off and a bag was suddenly placed and secured over his head. A zip-tie immobilised his hands. The rest of his concealed knives were then taken from him.

"Target acquired," Riley announced as they dragged the man to his feet.

"Good work Lieutenant, let's get him back to the Triskellion," Coulson replied calmly; inside he was thrilled. They had finally caught the link between the new elite network of smugglers, who went by the name of Hamlet; they had finally caught the pilot.

…

George felt himself be tied to a seat on what he assumed was a plane due to the noise. He couldn't be entirely sure given the ringing in his ears from the explosion. He found his head drooping and he quickly shook himself awake; he had to stay focused. Suddenly someone grabbed his wrist, twisting it upwards and something stabbed him in the vein, extracting his blood.

"Arschloch" (Asshole (German)) he stated to whoever was wielding the needle. "Sie Amerikaner sind stolz auf Ihre kleinen Stacheln sind Sie nicht?" (you Americans are proud of your little pricks, aren't you?) George heard one person laugh in front of him, but other than that it was silent, apart from some rustling a distance away from him.

George was the one to break the silence when he entered a coughing fit, unwillingly. He was pretty sure he had damaged a rib when he was thrown against the jeep. A firm grip was suddenly on his shoulder, holding him upright and another hand grabbed his shirt and lifted, revealing his chest. The hand pressed against his lower right rib and George painfully coughed once more.

"It's not broken, just bruised," a commanding voice said in front of him, it sounded like the laugh, but had more authority. "You need to stay upright."

"Ihre Plätze wurden in der Hölle gemacht," (your seats were made in hell) George replied as he felt the hard wall behind him. A hand then grabbed the bag on his head and it was pulled up slightly, revealing his mouth. A bottle was pressed against his lips and George was allowed a sip before it was taken away. His head followed it before he was pushed backwards. He needed the water, it was a hot country, but he was denied.

"Ihr Service ist Scheiße," (your service is shit) George stated after the bottle was once more placed against his lips, again only allowing him a sip. When something touched his mouth again George opened eagerly for more water, but suddenly a cloth was placed inside and his jaw was held shut as tape was placed over the top.

George tensed, throwing his head forward into nothingness before pulling at his restraints as hard as he could; all the while swearing at the man through his gag, causing him to painfully attempt to cough again and again. When it was clear fighting would achieve nothing, and was only making him weaker, he stilled, head bowed and waited; breathing harshly through his nose. The bag was then pulled back over his mouth and he sensed someone kneel in front of him.

"We wish you a pleasant flight," the man smirked. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but the other passengers are wanting to get some sleep and your profanity was growing tiresome." George instantly started swearing again, but it only came out as muffled hums, making him start coughing. The hand was on his shoulder once more and pushed him upwards. "I must insist you sit up. We did not go to this much effort to have you choke to death." The man then seemed to walk away and George remained in his seat, head drooping as he eventually lost consciousness.

…

George woke up when he was man-handled out of the plane into a nearby building. He was escorted/dragged for quite a way before he was dumped back onto another chair, his hands cuffed to a table. The bag was suddenly removed from his head and the gag pulled out. He was blinded momentarily by the white light of the room and was thus unable to see Lieutenant Riley exit.

"Jesus Christ," Fury stated behind the mirrored window. The target was a fucking kid, barely twenty years old, if that. "You knew this?"

"No sir," Coulson replied as he looked at the boy in front of him. The boy he had just fucking gagged and dragged out of a plane. There was a small trail of blood coming from one of his ears but other than that he just looked muddy. "Riley bagged him where he fell, didn't pause to look, didn't think he needed to."

"Well fuck…," Fury stated, rubbing a hand over his head. "This can't change anything Phil," he said gently. He knew how Coulson felt about young wayward mercenaries, how else would Barton and Romanoff be part of

SHIELD?

"It doesn't," Phil replied assuredly, though Fury could see Phil watching the kid like a hawk, evaluating his every move and breath. "Who's taking the lead?"

"Sitwell asked for it," Fury replied.

"Sir, I don't think that's…"

"He's done good work on this case Coulson. Besides if he fucks it up, I'll send you in." "Sir," Coulson replied, reluctantly accepting the Director's decision.

…

George was starting to get bored when the door behind him opened. A bald guy in a suit and glasses suddenly came into view and sat opposite him, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat and slammed a thick file on the table for effect. George nearly burst out laughing at the attempt at intimidation. This guy was pathetic. "Wissen Sie, was in dieser Datei?" (Do you know what's in this file?) the guy asked and George's assumptions were completely correct, they had no idea who he was. They had fallen for his trick of speaking German on the plane to test if they knew his true British identity, but he would go along with the routine for a while, let the guy think he was in charge. George looked at the file and made an expression of anxiety plaster itself on his face. "Es spielt keine Rolle, welche Schmutz du auf mich haben, können Sie mich einsperren für die Ewigkeit, und ich will immer noch nicht sprechen," (It doesn't matter what dirt you've got on me, you can lock me up for eternity and I still won't talk) George replied, making his bottom lip quiver slightly. The guy sat up in his seat and George's eyes flickered in fear as if he was terrified of being trapped in there with him.

"Früher oder später wird jeder redet," (Sooner or later everybody talks) the guy stated and George couldn't help himself any longer. He burst out laughing and soon turned hysterical. The guy had no idea what was going on and started to shuffle in his seat and glance at the mirror to the side. George now knew the location of the guys in the other room. This interrogator really was an amateur.

"Forgive me," George suddenly stated in a strong, English accent. "But did…" George stuttered between laughs. "Did you really just say that? Oh mate, that was like a movie…" The guy shuffled again, placing his hands on the table trying to regain the authority.

"I don't think you understand the situation you're in," the guy warned, his irritation growing. George went quiet and motioned to the file on the desk.

"You asked me what's in that file. I know what's in it. If you take out whatever shit you've tried to pile in there you'll be left with… I assume four photos of me by my plane in a hat. The only substantial evidence you've got on me is that shit-storm in Nigeria. You don't even know who I am, you don't even know my Nationality," George then turned to the two-way mirror. "You don't know shit!" The guy stood in anger and was about to shout at him when the door behind George suddenly opened. The guy instantly hesitated and then hurried out of the room.

…

"That was a complete fuck-up Sitwell, get back to your desk," Fury stated.

"Yes Sir, sorry Sir," he replied, hurrying away. That kid was playing games and he didn't know how to cope.

Fury then looked back into the room and watched as Coulson entered.

…

"If I knew you were going to be uncivil, I wouldn't have asked for your gag to be removed," the commanding voice from before stated behind him. George tensed slightly, he didn't like people being behind him.

"I want a discount on my flight, the air steward was a dick," George replied. This guy put him on edge a little, but at least he had a sense of humour. The guy walked around him and George saw the neat, tailored suit and the head of brown hair. As soon as he turned around, however, George instantly froze in recognition and the suit noticed. He slowly lowered himself into the chair and stared at the boy, trying to work out why the cocky kid had suddenly gone rigid.

"I'm Agent…"

"Philippe J Coulson, born 8th July 1964, Wisconsin," George recited as if he was reading a book.

"Have we met?" Coulson asked, not reacting to the comment on the outside, inside his mind was reeling. The kid, however, seemed to blank out for a second.

"…not officially," George replied. Coulson then seemed to move on, opening the file Sitwell had brought in. It really was full of shit. Coulson slowly sorted through the crap until he pulled out the four photos of the kid, he had got the number right. Coulson then collected all the sheets, put them back in the file and dropped it on the floor. The photos were laid out on the table, and turned to face the boy.

"Four photos, like you stated," Coulson said. "You want to tell me what's going on here? As it seems to me like you're not surprised to be here."

"No, I'm not," George conceded. "I knew that SHIELD was there in Nigeria, that's why I decided to take on the militia on my own."

"How did you know?"

"I led you there." Coulson nodded, it was as he expected. "I leaked the intel. I know how many photos you have of me as I allowed them to be taken."

"I presume there's a point to all this."

"Yes," George confirmed. "I'm going to give you everything you need to take down Hamlet."

"Why?" Coulson asked intrigued.

"Is that relevant?" George replied.

"I suppose not. And in return?" Coulson asked, impressed by the kid's statements so far.

"Chamber's gets nothing less than life in the most secure place you've got. I don't give a shit about anything else." Coulson smiled, he was starting to like this kid.

"You got a name?"

"You can call me Sam," he replied.

"That's not your name, is it?" "No," George stated.

"Well then Sam," Coulson said unlocking him from the table, before securing him in handcuffs. "You can come with me." Coulson then held his elbow, pulling the kid up and leading him out of the room. George stayed silent as he was led down a white hallway. Those who passed him were either in all black tactical gear or suits like Coulson. They all ignored him and acknowledged Coulson with respect. Coulson was obviously a big shot in SHIELD.

They were walking for about two minutes before Coulson opened a room and led 'Sam' inside. "Cosy," the kid stated as he looked inside. There was a single bed, with some clothes on, a desk and a door leading to a bathroom.

"It's 3 a.m., feel free to freshen up. I'll come for you at 7," Coulson said, unlocking the handcuffs.

"Coulson?" George replied, picking up one of the t-shirts. "You got any proper shirts?" Phil looked at him, face hiding his confusion.

"I'll see what I can do," Coulson replied.

"I assume I'll be locked in," 'Sam' asked. Coulson nodded and then left the room.

"Good going mate, yeah let's get yourself caught, that sounds like a great idea," George mumbled to himself as he grabbed the pants and headed for a shower, slamming the door shut.

…

Coulson entered Fury's office where the security tape from the interrogation and 'Sam's' room were played on repeat on the glass wall. Fury was stood watching the kid's reactions during Coulson's questioning.

"Any more surprises today Coulson?" Fury stated.

"Not that I'm aware of Sir, I think we've had our fair share."

"Who the hell is this kid?"

"I'm not sure Sir, I just got the report from the blood sample we took; nothing. He's a ghost." "A ghost who's seen you before," Fury observed.

"That, I'm working on, but right now I can't remember him." Fury then focused on the screen.

"Jesus," Fury stated as 'Sam' walked back into his room, bare back facing the cameras before he pulled on a shirt an agent had dropped off. There was one deep scar that was red raw, travelling upwards and twisting around his neck. His collar allowed the worst to be concealed. 'That explains the shirt fetish' Coulson thought.

Both men stood watching the image, blood boiling. That scar was old and the kid wasn't. "Keep me updated, he's not to leave that cell without you, am I understood?"

"Perfectly Sir."

"And Coulson."

"Sir?"

"Get some sleep."

"Only if you do Sir," Coulson said as he left the room.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Hope you enjoyed Chapter One. Thank-you for sticking with me**

Coulson knocked and then let himself into the room. Sam was sat on the bed, back resting against the wall, staring at the door. He quickly stood when Coulson held the door open, holding out his hands to be cuffed. They walked for a long time, taking a lift in an elevator, before they reached a glass walled conference room, with a room of computers and analysts next door. The occupants of that room did stare at him, but no doubt because they were all working on the Hamlet case and knew who he was. He was the pilot. The seemingly single link to the different sections of the organisation. He was the only one who made the drops, he was the middle man. George went and sat down in the centre of the room where he had a view of everyone else. Coulson noticed how the boy seemed to make sure his back was never exposed. Opening one of the cupboards, that turned out to hide a fridge, Coulson pulled out a bottle of water, a glass and a breakfast bar and placed them next to George, before un-cuffing him.

"Breakfast of champions," the kid mumbled. Coulson let a smile grace his face when he faced the other way and motioned for Hill to come in from the computer room. The woman walked in, dressed in a suit and hair tied neatly back.

"Agent Hill meet Sam. Sam; Agent Hill," Coulson said introducing them. Hill looked at him before sitting opposite, making George smile at her reaction. Coulson sat beside her and let Hill lead the discussion.

"We need you to describe the command structure of Hamlet," Hill stated. "Who the leaders are and what your role entails."

"I didn't plan this to give you so little information," George replied. Hill then started to look at him like he had a brain.

"What do you suggest?" Hill asked.

"Give me a laptop, a few hours and I'll show you."

"You are not allowed access to a computer," Coulson cut in, they didn't know if this kid had any hacking skills yet. George sighed.

"The old-fashioned way then, I need a pen and some paper."

"Fine," Coulson stated going to fetch some, Hill stood and left the room too, returning to the analysts. Yet, Hill stopped Coulson before he went back into the room.

"Coulson, we don't have time to deal with an arrogant mercenary, I don't trust him."

"Hill," Coulson began to the up and coming agent. "You have to trust someone." Hill was always far too sceptical. Coulson walked back up to George and placed the paper in front of him. Coulson then began working on his laptop, letting the kid get on. After about half an hour Phil couldn't take the wait any longer and looked up from his laptop. 'Sam' was working away, filling out a table on a piece of paper. Phil then looked at the pile of finished sheets, picking up one and looking at it. It was a bank statement dating back eight years ago from and unknown account, the writing was extremely neat and looked like it had been printed, on the top of the page the word 'Chambers' was written in scruffy hand writing. Coulson looked back at the kid to see he had stopped writing and was watching Phil's reaction.

Coulson picked up another sheet and confirmed his suspicion when he saw it was a replica of the first, only filled out with information of the next month.

"You have a photographic memory," Coulson stated. George nodded, impressed Coulson had worked it out so quickly. "How much more have you got?"

"Chamber's bank statements from five different accounts for the last eight years, the list of salaries to the mercenaries of Hamlet for the last four years, the details behind every transaction I oversaw for the last four, the percentage cuts each member receives after different types of deals and the layout of Hamlet's main bases, including security systems." Coulson sat still in his seat, processing that intel.

"Is Hamlet aware you have this information?"

"Some of it," 'Sam' replied.

"How motivated do you think they will be to get you back?" Coulson asked thinking about the security risks SHIELD would face, now that Hamlet would start actively targeting them to get their pilot back.

"Extremely, if they thought I was alive," George replied. Coulson immediately became confused. 'Sam' smiled. "I always had a contingency plan, if I needed to get out. I would set my plane to blow, leaving evidence within to make it look like I was on board. The unintended explosion in Nigeria would have left the same result. One, assumedly dead pilot."

"You planned everything didn't you?" Coulson asked, admiring the boy's cunning. Coulson, however, had obviously struck a nerve as the boy cast his eyes downwards.

"I had a long time to prepare," the kid said quietly.

"I'll see what I can do about that laptop," Coulson stated, standing. "It will be quicker; I should be able to find an air-gapped computer." George nodded and Coulson left the room, he was now left alone but he wouldn't go anywhere. Agent Hill was glaring at him through the glass.

…

For the next few days George's life was centred around a laptop. He would wake up in his cell, dress, get escorted by Coulson to the meeting room, type the intel and then be escorted back. That was until he typed the final letter and clicked save.

"Done," George stated and Coulson looked up from his own work.

"What?" he replied.

"I'm done," George repeated, getting up to stretch as Coulson spun the laptop and started going through the files.

"Stay here," Coulson said, taking the device to the analysts.

"Where would I go?" George mumbled to himself, leaning against the far wall. He hated being locked up like this, but he was doing the right thing. Coulson took his sweet time and eventually came back into the room. "Let's go," Coulson stated, looking at the kid. 'Sam' looked worn out, Coulson hadn't missed how the boy seemed to be sat-up in his bed each morning, waiting, nor how he drank about ten cups of coffee a day to keep him typing. The kid needed some fresh air and some trust or he was going to implode. When George reached the door, he held out his hands when Coulson pulled out the cuffs from his pocket, but Phil merely put them on the table by the door and walked out of the room, expecting the kid to follow; he did.

"So… where are we going?" 'Sam' asked as Phil led him into the elevator. Phil ignored him. Coulson hit the highest button and George got a little tense; top floor = important people, important people = fate deciders. They exited and George saw a long corridor leading to an entrance hall and what seemed to be an office behind. 'Sam' gulped a little but Coulson tapped his shoulder and motioned for him to walk the other way. They soon reached a maintenance door and Phil opened it to reveal…air. George slowly stepped out onto the roof and breathed in the freshness, the space, the freedom.

"I figured you were getting sick of looking at four walls all day," Coulson stated watching the kid as he looked out as his surroundings. George looked back towards him, shocked by the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

"I…uh…, thank-you," 'Sam' responded.

"You've got half an hour," Phil replied, heading back towards the door.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes," Phil said in the doorway.

"But what if I try and run?"

"Then you'd be an idiot," Phil called back as the door closed. George looked around and got what Coulson meant, this place was a fortress. He was stood on a giant glass building, overlooking a curved lake with a bridge connecting it to Washington. This had to be one of the most secure buildings out there. Wanting to enjoy the view, George sat with his back to the half-wall, where he could see the door and the sights. It was about two minutes later that sleep finally caught up with him.

…

After a few hours, George woke up on the roof, in the dark, and saw Coulson standing by the edge, drinking a beer. George cursed his lack of attention and slowly stood up, finding he now had a sore back.

He walked up and stood next to Coulson who offered him a beer he had been holding in his other hand.

"Thanks," George said taking it. "How long was I out?" "Good five hours," Coulson replied.

"What happened to 'you got half an hour'?"

"Sleep's more important than a schedule," Coulson replied as he sat on the half-wall.

"I think that's relative to what's on the schedule," George remarked before taking a big drink and sitting next to Coulson.

"How do you know all that stuff on Hamlet?" Coulson asked.

"Why do SHIELD care?"

"They don't," Coulson replied. "I was just curious." George took an even bigger mouthful.

"You could say that Chambers' sort of… raised me…" George said. Coulson nodded, the kid was brought up amongst criminals, not a rare story. "That led to trust."

"And your fine breaking that trust?" George looked down at that.

"It's not about being fine. It's about doing what's right," George stated. "Chambers' has looked out for me since I was a little kid, that doesn't wash away his other sins."

"And what about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the only reason I can think of for turning yourself in, is because you think you should be punished for what you've done. You could have just leaked the intel, you've proven your capable of that," Coulson said and George stood up suddenly, getting pissed off.

"You have no idea what I've done!" he stated sternly to Coulson. "And keep your fucking beer," he continued walking back inside.

"Hill?" he stated into his ear-piece. "'Sam' is making his way back to his cell. Make sure no-one shoots him; I don't want a mess."

"Coulson. What the hell are you doing, he could try and escape."

"He won't, trust me. This kid's here to stay," Coulson replied before casually finishing his beer as if nothing was wrong. All he needed to do now was work-out why the kid had seen him before.

…

George stood when he was sure Coulson wasn't going to come and get him like normal. No-one had come and got him. He was getting concerned that Coulson was pissed off about him yelling at him the day before. He walked up to the door and tested the handle, it was still unlocked; 'strange'. George walked out into the hallway and noticed there wasn't even a guard. Not knowing where anything was, except for the stuff along his usual route, George set off to the conference room he had been going to everyday. Every-time someone passed him he was expecting them to suddenly notice him and cuff him, but no one reacted. He eventually reached the meeting room and let himself in. Coulson was stood, leaning over the table which had now become a touchscreen.

"About time you showed up," Coulson said, not even looking.

"I didn't know I was expected," George replied, confused. "My chauffeur didn't pick me up." Coulson then did look up, cocking his eyebrow at the title.

"You have been granted free reign of certain areas," Phil said.

"Why?"

"Because of this," Coulson stated, pressing a button which made the whole table be filled with data. "We had nothing and now we have everything."

"This information will be outdated rapidly, if you don't strike now it's useless," George pressed.

"We know, that's why we've given you free reign." George was still confused. "We're going to make the plans together and then you're going to be involved in the op."

"I…I thought my place was in a cell?"

"Exactly… that's what you thought," Coulson said, resting his hands on a chair. "We believe in second chances at SHIELD. You'd be surprised at how many of our best operatives used to be our worst enemies." George had to take a seat.

"What your suggesting is crazy," George said firmly.

"No, it's not. Judging by the way you took down that militia leader you've got advanced field training. You've an extremely skilled pilot. You can speak multiple different languages and even if you couldn't hold your own we would recruit you as an analyst any-day. Your mind practically absorbs information."

"You wouldn't want me in the field," George said cryptically, "and how could you trust me with information?" "Again, that's why we've given you free reign. We start to trust you and you can start to trust us. Perhaps even tell us your real name." George looked at him but remained silent, it was a lot to process. "If this all goes crap you'll be put in prison anyway kid, what have you got to lose?"

…

"Just this way," Coulson said leading the kid into the training room.

"I think this is the first time I've seen you out of a suit," George joked as Coulson was wearing tactical gear. "Is it always so empty?" he asked, looking around the silent room.

"I booked the room," Coulson replied.

"You can do that?" George asked, it was the main training room.

"The power of the suit," Coulson mumbled walking on to the mat.

"What do you want me to do?" asked George.

"Hit me."

"Right," George said, but before he laid a shot Coulson hit him in the face. "Jesus Christ!" George yelled, holding his nose. "I thought I was starting."

"I just told you to hit me," Coulson replied, grinning.

"Dick move Coulson," George said before the sparring properly began. Coulson had been intensely trained and all his moves were precise but even he had to admit he was struggling. Still winning, but struggling. The kid was scrappy but fast, he got the job done and nearly had Coulson on the deck a couple of times. They had been going for half an hour with Coulson giving the kid tips to avoid more blows when he slammed the boy into the mat.

"Ow," George wheezed.

"Not bad," Coulson said walking off to the arms section. George slowly got up, holding his shoulder that he had landed on.

"Not bad? That was terrible, I just got whooped by a grandpa…" George said before seeing Coulson's face, "…grand agent…grand agent of SHIELD."

"Nice save," Coulson said, picking up a hand-gun and holding it out to George. The kid saw it and froze.

"'Sam'?"

"I don't do guns," the kid stated quickly.

"What?" Coulson asked confused, the kid looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Look, I'm not letting you out there if you can't defend yourself."

"I can defend myself," George argued.

"Prove it," Coulson said, holding the gun out again. George, defeated, picked it up and walked over to the target zone. Coulson didn't miss the shake in George's hand. The kid aimed, fired five rounds and then placed the gun down on the table, not bothering to look at the target. Coulson pressed the button and it came forward. Five shots, five misses. Coulson sighed, replacing the target and sending it back against the wall. "I can't have you on an op." When he turned around to face the kid, he suddenly found himself ducking as George threw a knife towards him. "What the hell are you doing!"

"There's your proof," George stated before leaving the room to go back to his own. Coulson stood there shocked about everything that had just happened. He looked around and saw where the knife had landed; dead centre.

"Fucking Hawkeye Junior," Coulson said, smiling, putting the weapons away.

…

George stood in the corner of the room, leaning against the glass, while slowly stirring his coffee. He was waiting whilst Coulson brought all the analysts in from the other room. Hill walked over to him when she entered.

"I was wrong about you," she said, as she also leant against the glass.

"Is that so," George replied.

"Yep. You don't deserve my glares, from now on I'll just yell at you," she said and George allowed himself to smile. "Is that a latte?" she asked, pointing to his coffee.

"Yeah."

"Thanks," she said taking his cup and drinking it whilst she walked over to Coulson at the head of the table. "You coming?" she called back as the analysts started to sit. George walked over and sat opposite her, whilst Coulson sat at the end, going over a file.

"Coulson, what are the punishments for beverage thievery," George asked as Hill continued to drink his coffee, grinning slightly.

"What?" Coulson said looking up from his file, out of the conversation.

"Never-mind." Coulson observed him for a second before beginning the meeting.

…

"So, we're all agreed?" Coulson asked the table and received a full set of nods. "We'll brief the tact. team tomorrow and then get on a plane. 'Sam', you come with me," he continued and George followed him out the door.

"Where are we going?"

"Tech. room."

"Should I ask?"

"You'll soon see." The two of them entered the tech. room, which George had to stop for a second to marvel at. Coulson, however, just walked straight towards a desk with an elaborate display of knives, ignoring all the awesome toys.

"Is that a bow?" George asked, Coulson didn't answer that question.

"These are all the designs we have. Pick which you want and how many you want." "You serious?" George asked, picking one of knives up.

"Yep. There's a target over there," Coulson said, pointing towards the wall. George juggled with one of the tiny knives before throwing it. It hit dead centre and George went and pulled it out.

"How many of these have you got?" George asked.

"How many do you need?" asked a technician, who had watched the throw.

"As many as I can strap to my wrist," George replied.

"You want any of the others?" Coulson asked. George then picked up the small handled blade.

"One of these in each boot, outside face and better put one on my thigh. I'm guessing you can do all this right?" George questioned, he was asking for specialized gear.

"Yeah, we can do it," the tech guy replied before motioning George to follow him to one of the weird looking machines. The tech guy pulled out a mould and told George to place his wrist in it. It took about twenty seconds for a cast to be made. "We'll make a strap to place the knives in. Due to the time constraint, we'll put the other knives in fitted pockets of the standard gear."

"Thanks," George said and then he and Coulson left the room. "SHIELD does like to be fancy huh?" Coulson, however, stopped and faced him when they were the only ones in the corridor.

"This is not normal procedure; no. SHIELD usually provides standard gear to everyone but our most elite agents. We tend to assume anyone who can hit a bulls-eye with a knife can pull a trigger and hit a point in a circle, or at least hit the paper." George looked away. "You going to tell me what the hell's going on here."

"I don't know what you mean. I can't shoot alright, big deal."

"Babies can't shoot, anyone who has learned how to use their hands can do better than you did. You've got a past and I get that, but right now I've got a team of agents about to step into a fight based on the information you gave us, so you better stop with the lies and start giving me some answers."

"George Samuels," the kid mumbled.

"What?" Coulson said and the kid finally met his gaze.

"That's my name; George Samuels." Coulson stood still, he hadn't expected him to reveal that information for a while yet.

"'Sam'; Samuels" Coulson said, figuring the code-name out. "Alright. You're done for the day," Coulson finished letting the kid have some space. Phil went straight to his office and logged on to the SHILED database, he recognized that name.

…

"Coulson," Fury greeted. "How's our prisoner doing? Hill tells me he's no longer behind bars." "You've seen the intel he's given us Sir, I think you can understand why I gave him some privileges," Coulson replied and Fury nodded his head in agreement.

"So, when's the assault?"

"We leave tomorrow Sir," Coulson replied before handing Fury a file.

"James Samuels, deceased millionaire," Fury said, reading the file. "Coulson, what the hell is this?"

"Back in 2000 I was ordered to investigate a small illegal arms delivery. I was given a tip by one James Samuels and was given a rendezvous point to meet him. He never showed. I went to his house, well I would call it a mansion, outside London and when I got there, the media was all over the place. The house had exploded, apparent gas leak. The police let me through and they confirmed that the explosion was of such temperature that there was no evidence of who the victims were, nor was there any chance of survival. James Samuels and his nine-year-old son George were marked dead at the scene."

"I presume there's a point to all this," Fury said, still unsure as to what Coulson was talking about.

"Look at his known relatives," Coulson said. Fury looked back at the file and suddenly sat up a little higher.

"Chambers," Fury stated.

"James Samuel's brother in law."

"You didn't just suddenly remember all this did you?"

"No Sir," Coulson confirmed. "That kid downstairs, he's George Samuels. He didn't die in the explosion and I have a good feeling that James Samuels was already dead at the scene. What you're looking at Sir is the formation of Hamlet and that kid down there has seen it all."

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	3. Chapter 3

**Here's chapter three: the mission.**

"'Sam'," Coulson called and the kid got up from his seat to stand in front of the room. He took the remote from Coulson and began his presentation to a room full of the tactical team that had arrested him about three weeks prior. Clicking the button, George revealed an image of a compound in the Central African Republic. Sam then went through the tactical teams several routes into the compound and all the security measures that would have to be disabled and disposed of.

"Now, the main officials of Hamlet meet once a month at random locations, this month it's here. That means that when the escape routes have been secured by us, the officials will retreat to these room here," George said, pointing out the vault. "From this room, they can call for back-up and have a band of militia on us within twenty minutes. So, if they make it into these rooms, which they most likely will, we have under twenty-minutes to break in, take Chambers and haul ass. If my security I.D still works, then easy, I can open the door. If not, then we need to blow that door down as quickly as possible."

"Any questions?" Coulson asked.

"Evac.?" Lieutenant Riley asked.

"Choppers to the roof." Coulson then waited until he was sure there were no more questions. "Ok. Get to the plane, we leave in fifteen." The team then left the room to get sorted. "You did good," Coulson said to George. The kid leaned against one of the seats.

"If this goes wrong…" George began.

"It won't," Coulson interrupted.

"It will, it's inevitable," George said. "You know who I am now, you know what part I play in this. There's no way that this comes out ok. Hamlet, SHIELD, who am I supposed to root for? I'm either supporting an organisation of murderers or choosing to kill my own family."

"Just because you grew up with them, doesn't make them family," Coulson said, standing next to him.

"No? Well who the fuck else have I got?"

"SHIELD," Coulson said and George looked up at him. "We protect our own and we're very good at it. We also try to only hurt the bad guys. Not a bad place to look for a fresh start."

"I've killed people, Coulson. I'm responsible for their deaths."

"Everyone's got a past, it's what you're doing with your future that I'm concerned about."

"You really think I could stay after all this?" George asked sceptically. "You really think SHIELD would want me?"

"I'd have to file some paperwork, but I think I could turn a few tails," Coulson smirked. "I've got your back kid, now come on, we've got a job to do."

…

"Not bad," George stated, having finished putting on his gear. Black boots, knives concealed on the outside edge. Black cargo pants, with a thigh strap, containing a slightly larger knife. Black t-shirt, black collared jacket and a bullet-proof vest. Best of all though was the wrist strap. Tied over the jacket sleeve was a strap, moulded to his wrist with small throwing knives diagonally placed along the top, an easy reach from his throwing arm to his left wrist.

"Here, George, put this is your ear," Coulson said handing him a com-link.

"Thanks," George replied, doing as he was told.

"We are five minutes from drop, over," said the pilot over the link. George, Coulson and the tactical team stood and got their parachutes on.

"You ever jumped before Coulson?" George asked.

"A few times, and yourself?" Coulson asked when he saws the signs of nerves in the kid.

"I…uh…tend to stay in the cockpit when flying," George answered as the hanger door was suddenly opened.

"Don't uh usually feel the wind like this."

"Well kid, you either jump or one of the ex-SEAL's will drag you out," Coulson said joking, but Riley heard and did prepare to do such a thing, positioning himself subtly behind the kid. The orange light suddenly turned on and the tactical team crouched. As soon as it hit green George tried not to think and ran after the guy in front, he had slowed down at the end but Riley's momentum carried him out. George was just glad he had saved some dignity by only screaming on the inside.

…

"This is alpha team, entering the North-side, over," a soldier stated.

"Copy that Alpha team, delta we have all clear," Riley said, leading his men forwards. George and Coulson walked in the middle of the soldiers. They were the team going all the way in. With their night-vision goggles the team quickly disposed of the outside guards and set charges to blow the exterior doors. Once into the corridors it was just a case of shooting the lights before they were spotted. Coulson and George had gone without the night-vision so had their hands on the back of the soldiers as they were guided through. An alarm suddenly sounded and the emergency lights switched on, they had been spotted. "Phase two, Alpha team hold exterior," Riley stated as his team removed their goggles and picked up the pace, stealth was no longer essential. Hostiles came out of all the rooms they passed and Riley found himself starting to be impressed by the kid. He just took down three guys with miniature knives, who had been a millisecond off killing some of his men. Riley had to admit, the knife throwing was quick, silent and effective.

Eventually they approached the corridor outside the secure zone and two SEALs went forwards to clear it whilst Coulson, George, Riley and a few others hung back behind the corner.

"Clear Sir," one of them called and Riley turned to George.

"Let's go kid," Riley stated, leading George round the corner to get to the security lock, whilst Coulson remained behind the corner. Coulson heard the click of the door being unlocked, but also a cry of pain as there was suddenly a flash bang and gunshots coming from round the bend. Coulson moved to see but a SEAL grabbed him and pinned him behind the wall for cover. When the gunfire stopped the SEALs moved in and Coulson was forced to look from a distance. The two soldiers were dead; headshots and Riley was lying still, with blood over his chest. The security door was open, but concealed by smoke. There was no sign of George. The SEALs quickly grabbed Riley's vest and dragged him back to cover. "They…took…took the kid," Riley coughed out, eyes drooping.

"Get him to the extraction now!" Coulson shouted at the SEALs who instantly pulled their injured Lieutenant up, whilst some others grabbed their fallen comrades. "You three, we're going in," Coulson said to the remaining SEAls. There was a screech in his ear that signalled that one of the comm's had been destroyed.

Coulson could no longer contact the kid.

Coulson then led them to the door and slowly entered the smoke-filled room. Both he and the agents took out the remaining guards and walked into the final room only to freeze. George was sat on a chair in the centre of the room, bullet-proof vest removed. He was bound and gagged, left thigh bleeding badly. Behind him knelt Chambers, head resting by George's shoulder, making a shot unachievable.

"Ah, SHIELD. What a mess you've made," Chamber's said in greeting. "I must thank-you though. You may have taken out most of my men, even some of our leaders but, you've reunited me with my family, I was so thrilled to find out my dear nephew was alive," Chamber's continued, stroking a hand through George's hair, causing the kid to turn his pale face away in disgust.

"Let the kid go, its finished. Hamlet's finished," Coulson stated, spotting the gun Chamber's held in his right hand, pressed into George's side.

"I think not. You see I don't put all my tricks up one sleeve. I'm sure I can find another venture, especially with my talented nephew here returned to me, but you're running out of time. The militia is on its way and you have two choices. I'll kill the boy and you take me in, or you leave and the boy lives." Coulson looked at the kid and knew what he wanted him to do, he just knew it was very risky. The kid was already weakened from blood loss. Coulson felt the agents behind him getting twitchy and he looked at his watch, they had two minutes. He had to make a choice and he did.

"SHIELD don't like ultimatums," Coulson stated as George smacked his head back into Chamber's face and rocked his chair to the side. The bullet Chamber's fired glanced his side, causing him to wince but nothing more as Coulson ran forward to disarm Chamber's. The guy was already refocused on Phil, however, so George kicked his closest leg out into Chamber's arm, so that the bullet missed Coulson. He couldn't help but scream into his gag as he had used his wounded limb. Coulson quickly disarmed Chamber's and the agents grabbed him and bagged him. Coulson was pretty sure he saw one of them punch Chambers in the face out of the corner of his eye as Coulson knelt beside George.

The kid was blacking out from the pain as he moaned into his gag. Phil left it in, knowing that without it the kid was likely to bite his tongue. Phil pulled off George's shirt and ripped it quickly, tying the material around the leg wound. George's muffled screams were going to give Coulson nightmares.

"George. Look at me. Stay awake!" Coulson said as he grabbed the kid's head, forcing him to look at him. The kid's eyes were drooping but it was evident he was trying. "Come on kid, keep those eyes open! You don't save my life then die on me."

"Sir, we have to go," one of the SEALs stated and together they grabbed a shoulder each and pulled George up. The kid had lost a lot of blood and was now a dead-weight, though he tried to use his undamaged leg. They had to drag him towards the extraction. Coulson heard the militia arriving at the compound as alpha team held them off and increased his speed, he was getting the kid on to that chopper. Gun shots started firing and one of the choppers took off to pick up alpha team as they got onto the roof. When they jumped on-board the chopper got hit a few times and Coulson was sure it was going down but by some miracle it kept going. George was passed out and a medic was seeing to his leg as Coulson pulled the gag off and sat beside the kid. The medic pulled a breathing mask out of his kit and Coulson quickly placed it over George's mouth. He felt relieved when he saw the steady fogging of the mask.

"He'll need surgery when we get back, the bullet's still in there," the medic said, seeing Coulson's thoughts.

"Riley?" Coulson asked. The medic, however, frowned and the atmosphere on the chopper got colder.

"I'm sorry Sir. He didn't make it," the medic replied and Coulson glared at the bagged figure strapped into a seat. Chamber's was going to pay for this.

…

Coulson sat in the waiting room for what seemed like days as the surgery was going on. About half an hour in, Fury had joined him.

"You got the job done," Fury stated, knowing the look on Phil's face.

"I'm not really in the mood for a pep talk Sir," Coulson replied.

"What happened wasn't your fault. Riley's death was unavoidable. He performed his duty to the best of his ability, but in this line of work that's not always enough."

"I know that," Coulson replied.

"Then it's the kid," Fury responded. Coulson didn't reply, but looked up at the clock again, it had been two minutes since he last checked. "You want to recruit him, don't you?" Fury asked.

"Yes," Coulson stated.

"You sure about him Phil?"

"He saved my life Sir." Fury wasn't going to dispute that fact as a test of character.

"Then you know what to do. When he's settled in, I want to meet my new agent," Fury said. "Sir."

…

He felt dizzy, like nothing was real. He had felt this before and knew he was on pain killers. Intense ones. His eyes felt like lead, but after some coaxing they flickered open only to snap shut when the light hit him. Something clicked and the light seemed to become gentler so George tried again. It was blurry and he had no idea where he was, but a shape moved closer to him. His vision cleared a little and George could make out a suit and tie.

"Coul…son?" George said between breaths.

"Yeah kid," the guy replied.

"Wha…t?" George mumbled, attempting to sit-up. There was instantly a hand holding him firmly down. "Easy," Coulson said, "you're back at SHIELD, you're safe." George kept his eyes closed as he processed that information and remembered where he had been and what had happened at the compound.

"Riley?" George asked, worry in his eyes.

"He's gone kid, I'm sorry," Coulson responded. George turned his head away at that news, too many times had he felt responsible for a death. "It's not your fault."

"Then whose fault is it?" George snapped. "It was my intel."

"It's not all about the numbers kid."

"No, it's also about the people and I knew what Chambers was like."

"Yes, you did, and that's why you knew it was right to put an end to Hamlet."

"Stop doing that!"

"Stop doing what?" Coulson questioned confused.

"Stop making it seem like I'm a good person, ok! I'm not!"

"No one's a good person kid, but there are people that make choices for good reasons and you're one of them." George looked at Coulson, weighing his expression. He let it sink in but didn't want to continue that conversation and looked around the room.

"Where am I?" he said eventually breaking the silence.

"SHIELD medical, Triskellion," Coulson replied, annoyed that the kid had become reserved again, but at least he had gotten somewhere.

"You've got the good stuff; I can't feel a thing."

"That was your last batch of it though, it's not going to be easy," Coulson replied.

"What happens now?" George asked.

"Well, that's up to you. Hamlet's gone, Chambers' is locked away and it's all because of you. Due to your previous key involvement in the illegal organisation you can expect some jail time, or, you can join us." "What would I do?"

"Desk job kid, we don't send under-age agents out into the field." "What about what we just did?" George questioned.

"You weren't an agent, you were a consultant," Coulson replied matter-of-factly.

"Ok," George said and paused for a short time. "Sign me up." Coulson smiled.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: the recruitment.**

George limped back to his room, he had just spent three hours in tests and could do with a break. He walked through the SHIELD residential quarters; he hadn't had enough time to find a place yet as medical had only released him last week. Turning a corner, he saw a group of people talking near his door, one of them was a tall, short black haired, built guy, showing a badge off. There was a young woman admiring his muscles.

"Yeah, so Hand brought me into her office and told me the news. I've made level 5," the guy said.

"Ward, that's so great. You deserved it, you've had so many successful ops recently," the woman replied, lost in his eyes. George couldn't help it but let out a light chuckle as he put his keys in the door.

"Something funny?" the guy known as Ward asked.

"No," George said grinning, turning the lock. Ward however was not satisfied and got closer, the woman seemed to be loving it whilst the other guy left.

"Who are you?" Ward asked.

"Forgive me," George said extenuating his English accent. "George Samuels, or Sam," he continued, holding out his hand. Ward looked at it but didn't shake. "And you are?"

"Agent Ward."

"Pleasure to meet you Agent," George replied. "Congratulations on your promotion," he said, opening his door.

"So what rank are you?" the woman asked before he could leave.

"Pardon?"

"What clearance have you got?" Ward said like he was talking to an idiot.

"Not sure, I joined last week, I'm not an agent yet," George replied and they both stared at him.

"What the hell are you doing here then?" the woman asked.

"Well, I was entering my room," George replied.

"The D.C base is for level 4's up only. Everyone else is at the other sites."

"I'm sure I'll be moved in due course if there's an issue."

"Is there going to be an issue," Ward replied sternly, getting closer.

"Intimidation isn't your strong suit," George replied and suddenly his shirt was in a grip. He could get out of it but it was quite fun playing the easy target, it meant he could surprise the prick later.

"Next time, keep your laugh silent," Ward said, before dropping him and walking off. The woman enjoyed the display and followed Ward off.

"Dickhead," George mumbled before going into his room, finally free to relax.

…

As soon as George's eyes closed there was a knock on the door.

"Fuck off!" he shouted. Coulson chuckled to himself before walking into the room, face calm. The kid was stretched out on his bed, leg raised on a pillow. "I've done too many tests today Coulson, I'll do the rest tomorrow."

"I haven't come here for a test," Coulson responded.

"Then let me sleep," George whined. "I haven't in days." "Fury wants to see you," Coulson said.

"Sounds like a name for a tank, go away."

"Let me rephrase this, the Director of SHIELD, Nick Fury wants to see you." George sat up.

"SHIELD has a director?"

"No, we just all do what we want and somehow succeed... Come on, get dressed," Coulson said. George stood and limped over to his drawer and got out a fresh shirt to go over his t-shirt. Coulson understood by now that the kid wouldn't go out without his neck concealed to hide his scar. George would either wear a tactical kit with a collared zip fleece, or suit trousers with a nearly fully buttoned up shirt, no tie.

"Lead the way," George said when he was ready. Coulson took it slow, he knew that the kid was in agony, which had contributed to the lack of sleep, but he needed to be off the pain killers. They got into the elevator and it was just the two of them. "So, what's he like?" George knew Coulson probably wouldn't give him a proper answer, SHIELD liked their surprises.

"Well, he has an eye-patch," Coulson said, smirking.

"SHIELD's leader is a pirate, that explains things," George replied.

"I have no idea what you mean," Coulson said, walking out of the corridor. George looked to the right, seeing the door that led to the roof and reluctantly followed Coulson left. They passed an empty secretary desk.

Coulson knocked and then walked in, George behind him. Coulson was right, the guy did have an eye-patch.

Fury was stood, reading a file, before he placed it back on the desk and walked into the open space.

Fury stood with his hands clasped behind his back and was glaring at the kid, analysing him. George had to stop himself from shuffling, it was an intense glare.

"George Samuels," Fury stated, George just nodded his head. "Your test results came back," Fury said, before he went back to his desk and picked up the file again. "You're shit at science."

"I try," George smirked but Coulson shot him a glare. Fury just moved on to the next page.

"I think we'll find a use for you," Fury said. "I want you in the analyst division, under Agent Blakeman.

Coulson will introduce you."

"Will I be stationed here?" George asked.

"For now. You get $30,000 a year, full insurance and a pension fund."

"And if I don't want anything?" George asked and Fury looked up at him.

"The money you inherited from your father is irrelevant, we pay all our employees. Its more paperwork if we don't. Accept it and give it away if that's your decision." George nodded. "On top of your analyst work you will be training once a day with Agent Coulson." George looked at Coulson but the Agent remained still.

"Ok," George replied, he was very glad, Coulson was the only person in the world he trusted right now.

"Any questions?" Fury asked.

"I want to see Chambers," George said and finally Coulson reacted.

"That's not…," Coulson began.

"Fine," Fury stated. "He's being transferred tonight; Coulson will escort you to the detention level before then." "Escort?" George asked, wondering if Fury was still having him watched.

"You have Coulson's trust, you are yet to earn mine," Fury replied.

"Understood Sir," George responded, and he did understand. "The feeling is mutual." Fury looked at him and smirked at the kid's nerve.

"You're free to go," Fury said, before George and Coulson walked out. George walked towards the lift but Coulson grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the roof. When they were in privacy Coulson started his ranting.

"You shouldn't see Chambers," Coulson stated.

"I need to have closure," George replied.

"You had closure, you stopped him."

"I stopped an illegal organisation, now I need to end it with my uncle."

"He's a psychopath," Coulson argued. "You shouldn't be in the same room as him."

"Stop treating me like a child, I know what he is, I lived with him for ten years!"

"I'm trying to protect you," Coulson said.

"I didn't ask you to!"

"Well someone needs to! You're trying to punish yourself from what you've done it the past, you're trying to punish yourself for what happened to Riley."

"Shut-up Coulson, you don't know the half of it," George said, looking the other way.

"Then tell me," Coulson replied. George looked back at him, trying to judge the man in front of him.

"I…I can't," George said. Coulson looked disappointed and sighed, making for the exit.

"Meet me in my office at 5." When he had left George smashed his hand into one of the vents.

"God-dammit!"

…

George knocked and heard Coulson call him in. Coulson stood up and put his jacket on.

"Let's go," Coulson said and they walked together in silence to the detention centre. Coulson led the kid into one of the observing rooms and they looked through the mirror at Chambers who was sat in front of a table like George had been a few weeks before. "You have fifteen minutes; I will remain here watching. You will sit in the seat opposite and not get any closer, if you do I will come in. If I don't like where the conversation is going, I will come in. Understand?"

"Fine," George replied to the rules. He could see Coulson was on edge about this. George then left the room and entered the one Chambers was in. "Uncle," George greeted, sitting down in the chair. Chambers was a broad man, like a rugby player, but he also had a head on him. He observed his nephew and smiled.

"I wondered when you would come," Chambers said.

"But you knew that I would," George replied.

"You were always sentimental Georgie." Coulson grimaced at the nickname, this guy was a creep. "Is that why it took you so long to betray me?"

"You gave me no choice; we were killing too many people."

"Mmm. Yes, you played your part and now you're free to live unpunished." George's lip twitched; that had struck a nerve and Coulson got ready to intervene.

"I'm trying to do something good for once."

"You're a killer Georgie, you always have been, that won't go away," Chambers said.

"You don't know what I am," George argued, getting flustered.

"Oh yes I do, it was your choice to pull that trigger Georgie." George flinched and Coulson grew concerned. "It felt good didn't it, you enjoyed it."

"Shut-up!" George yelled.

"He was a coward and you killed him!" George stood. "You murdered him!" George lost it and punched Chambers across the face. Coulson immediately had the door open and George instantly backed off, horrified by his loss of control. "You see I'm right," Chambers said as George left the room. "Violence is in your nature!" Coulson closed the door and then hurried after the kid.

"George!" Coulson shouted, chasing the kid. He came into a corridor which held a few concerned-looking agents. They pointed towards one of the doors and nodded. "Clear the hall," Coulson instructed.

"Sir," came their replies.

Coulson knocked but there was only silence so he let himself in. It was a small meeting room, with walls, not glass, and it was dark. Coulson slowly walked in, turning the lights on low as he stepped towards the kid, huddled in the corner. Coulson loosened his tie and then sat down next to him. He stayed silent, knowing that if the kid wanted to talk he would. George was rubbing his bleeding knuckle with his other hand, it was a good punch. It was about ten minutes before George spoke.

"It was the night you came to the house," George said and Coulson tried to think about when he had seen a kid during that time. "It was the holiday so I was home from boarding school. Dad had been acting strange all day, he was nervous about something. That afternoon Chambers came around; it was winter so it was already dark. They were shouting and I went downstairs to look. Chambers was yelling, I didn't understand, my uncle never acted like that before. He was always so nice to me, dad barely ever acknowledged me, not since my mum died. Suddenly Chambers saw me and grabbed me. He pulled out a gun and put it to my head. He told my dad that he had to remain silent about the business or he would kill me. My dad told him that he couldn't. I didn't understand it then, I didn't understand that my dad wanted to put an end to Hamlet, I didn't know what it was at that point. I was just a child. I thought my dad wanted me to die, I thought he had betrayed me, I thought he didn't love me. I was wrong… He was just trying to stand up for what he believed in.

Chambers, he… he put the gun in my hand and he whispered things in my ear. He told me my dad hated me, that my dad had given him up, that my dad was a coward and a criminal. He told me that if I didn't fire the gun that he would, as my father had to die for his crimes against the family. My father just stood there, he didn't try to move, he just accepted it. Chambers held my arm up, and placed his hand over mine on the trigger…" George paused, his voice was growing quieter as he remembered that night.

"You didn't have a choice," Coulson said, filling the silence.

"Yes, I did… I pulled the trigger. I could have waited, let chambers press it for me, but I didn't." Coulson stayed silent on that point, the kid wouldn't listen to reason. Least now he knew why George couldn't use a gun.

"The explosion?"

"Chambers organised it with a few of his guys. He had one of them take me outside, I got away, ran under one of the cars. That's when the police arrived and when you came. You dropped your SHIELD card on the gravel in front of the car I was under. That's why I knew so much about you. I remembered it. I was about to run out, to show myself, but Chambers came. He claimed to be grieving whilst his men surrounded the car, preventing me from leaving. When they could, they took me."

"You told Chambers that you were trying to do something good," Coulson said after a while. George didn't meet his eye. "Then tomorrow we start, one day at a time. You're going to save lives kid, not end them. Those dark days are over." George looked at him and nodded slowly, it was a plan. He would be an agent of SHIELD.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: His first case.**

7 months later…

Clint walked through the desks, avoiding the curious looks he kept receiving. They all knew who he was, they just didn't understand why he was down here, in the analyst zone. Eventually Clint realised he would have to ask about where to find the kid, the rooms down here were full of desks and analysts. He was pointed towards a desk in the corner. There was a mountain of paperwork on the side and there was a kid sat behind it, working away.

"Agent Samuels?" Clint asked.

"One sec," the kid replied. After a short while, George put his pen down and looked up. Judging by the fact the kid didn't react at all meant that he didn't know who Hawkeye was.

"I need you to look at this," Clint said, holding out a file. George rubbed a tired hand over his eyes.

"You can add it to the pile, but I'm not sure when I'll get to it." "I need it seen to now," Clint insisted.

"Well that's what the last fifteen people said. Blakemen will have my ass if I don't do these first. I'm sorry, but it isn't going to happen." Clint watched how the people around him reacted to George refusing Hawkeye. The kid, however, didn't appear to realise. Clint wasn't surprised, the kid had a remarkable set of bags under his eyes.

"Coulson sent me," Clint said and instantly George sat up a little.

"Alright," George replied, taking the file. He opened the cover and saw a level 6 emblem. George closed the cover and really looked at Clint for the first time. "This is above my pay-grade."

"Coulson cleared you, but this room isn't," Clint responded. George then stood up, picking up some paper and a pen and led the way to a meeting room. The kid sat down so that he was facing the door, back to the far wall. He had field experience. Clint knew it wasn't coincidental that the kid picked the most protective spot. George then opened the file and started flicking through it.

"What is it you need?" George asked.

"Estimated associates." George nodded and laid out the picture and information of the target; one Ivan Belsky. Clint then sat and watched as the kid read through the file and then started writing down names on a piece of paper. It took about two minutes before the kid finished and showed the sheet to Clint.

"This group," George circled, "are definite. The second lot, they use the same jet company, the third, the same bank, the fourth are complete guesses, they just use the same ammo, it's quite rare. I've underlined the most likely ones, though I can't guarantee anything."

Jesus Christ, Clint had come down for like two names and had been given twenty. No wonder Coulson had told him to stop wasting his time upstairs and come down here. Who was this kid?

"You a computer or something?" Clint remarked, since the kid had done everything in his head.

"Photographic memory… it comes in handy," George said, rubbing his eyes again.

"I'm sure. Agent Barton," Clint said, holding out his hand.

"Call me 'Sam'," George responded, taking the offered gesture. "You taking this guy out?"

"Perhaps," Clint said cryptically.

"Well, if you need a pilot…," George said, standing. Clint smirked.

"I'll think about it kid," Clint replied, picking up the paper and the file.

"So, how do you know Coulson?" George asked as they walked back to his desk.

"He recruited me, years back," Clint replied. George looked up, smiling a little.

"He does that often?" George asked.

"No," Clint said and George's smile got a little bigger.

"Well, nice to meet you. I'll continue my exciting work," George said sitting down. Clint chuckled at the kid's boredom and said goodbye. When he looked back the kid was stuck in his work again, like nothing had happened.

…

George was spun in the air and then smacked down onto the mat, he hit his hand against the floor to get Coulson to release him.

"I always fall for that," George whined as he got up. Coulson smirked.

"Come on, another round," Phil replied.

"Fine," George said and they sparred again. This time George kicked out and knocked Coulson down. "Four-three."

"Four-two, that first one didn't count," Coulson corrected, taking George's offered hand.

"Not my fault you got distracted."

"Well, why don't you try and avoid punches while being on a phone."

"Be prepared for anything Coulson," George said as they walked off the mat and George grabbed a towel. "I met an agent Barton today, he said you sent him."

"Yes, I did. He's a great guy and you get through work faster than the analysts upstairs."

"And I get five times as much," George complained, taking the bottle from Coulson. "Blakeman keeps pushing unfinished cases at me. I can't do all of it Coulson."

"It won't be much longer; I keep updating Fury on your efficiency." "I don't think it's my efficiency he's worried about," George replied.

"Give him time, you're still the new guy," Coulson said.

"Don't get me wrong, I understand… it's just… something isn't right Coulson." "What do you mean?" Phil asked, seeing the kid's expression.

"I don't know; it might be nothing. Just something feels off with some of the cases I've been handling… Forget it… I'm probably just over tired." Coulson looked at him for a while, before deciding to leave it.

"So, what did you think of Barton?" Coulson asked, changing the topic.

"I think, by the looks he got in the office, that he's got a reputation. Seems alright to me. He said you recruited him."

"He has, and I did." George nodded.

"I'm going to head off, I got an engine to fix," George said, walking to the dressing room.

"Try to fit in some sleep," Coulson called. George waved his hand in acknowledgement.

…

George felt restless so he came into work early and headed to the gym. He got on one of the treadmills and started going, minding his own business. He groaned when he saw Ward walk in a few minutes later. The cocky agent worked his way through the room, challenging people to fights. George was surprised that he didn't go near the weight section where he normally went, but George thought he knew why. On one of the benches sat Agent Barton, talking to a red haired beautiful woman.

"Samuels," Ward suddenly said, standing by the treadmill. "You finally going to fight me?"

"I think you've fuelled your ego sufficiently for one day," George replied. That only pissed Ward off and he hit the stop button on the machine. George sighed and leant against the arm rest. "I'm not in the mood Ward."

"Oh, I forgot your natural state was one of cowardice. All words no action."

"Least I know how to use them," George replied and as predicted was grabbed, but instead of being lifted, he was thrown onto the floor. "Ouch. That was rude," George whined, getting up. He looked around the room and saw that Clint looked like he was ready to intervene, but the red-head stopped him, it looked like she wanted to watch. Ward was approaching and made a punch which George just ducked under. Ward made another few hits but George just avoided him. When he got angrier Ward charged and George lashed out with his leg, causing Ward to trip and be thrown over George's back and then grabbed, only to be smashed onto the floor. It was a

Coulson move. Ward was winded on the ground, so George straightened his own fleece. "Thanks for the fight," George said, picking up his water and walking out. He heard a laugh from across the room and looked to see the red-head smirking, whilst Clint smiled. George acknowledged him with a nod, but then left, he needed to get dressed and back to work.

…

Clint kept coming back to George over the next couple of months for mission intel. With so many meetings they had become quite amicable.

"'Sam'" Clint called and George looked up from his file to see the agent walking towards him. "You alright?" Clint asked when he saw the kid's expression.

"Huh? …yeah I just…"

"Kid?"

"Does this add up to you?" George asked, holding out the file. Clint gave it a quick look through but didn't see anything suspicious.

"Looks like a standard mission report to me. Why?" "Nothing… it's just… well I don't know, ignore me." "Alright… we better get to the talk," Clint said.

"Talk?" George asked confused. "Oh yeah, Ward's lecture… great." Clint, however, didn't start walking.

"You alright kid?" Clint asked, worried about how tired the kid looked.

"Of course," George replied. "Why?"

"Because you look like your living off coffees. You sleeping?"

"I've just got a lot of work," George responded. "Blakeman's giving me a lot of cases, Coulson's still teaching me to hold my own and I've got those fighter jet lessons."

"Ok…," Clint said, leading the way to the lecture room. When they walked in Clint sat next to Natasha and George beside him. "Tasha," Clint greeted.

"Boys," she said to both of them. George had met Natasha Romanoff a few times, but she was very secretive, so he knew when to shut-up around her. "You got clearance here kid?"

"Coulson," George said in explanation. Nat nodded.

Ward walked in and the room went quiet as he began his talk on the intel he had gathered over the last few weeks on a level 5 mission. Nat and Clint would be sent in to extract the main target and Coulson had wanted George to be there to gain experience and to keep Ward on his toes.

"…after much work, we have been able to locate all three of his known associates…" Ward was saying as their faces came up on the screen. George shuffled in his seat.

"There's five," George whispered to Clint.

"What?"

"There's five associates."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Excuse me?" Ward suddenly said. "Samuels, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Agent Coulson requested my presence," George replied. Ward looked annoyed but he had no authority there.

"Well, we tend to keep our mouths shut during briefings, unless you have some observation," Ward goaded.

George, however, was happy to comply.

"There are five associates, not three," George stated and the room went silent. Some SHIELD higher ups who were in the room, began to look at the screen closer.

"And who may the other two be? I didn't realise you were an expert at such things." "Philippe Jenkins and Nigel Balke," George replied.

"And why would these two people be associates of a drug smuggler?" Ward questioned, getting really pissed off.

"Well, Jenkins and the target sponsor the same Formula Three team and use the same golf course. And well Balke is definitely in the drugs business with him," George said.

"You're accusing a very respected man of being involved in an illegal business. I think we are entitled to some proof."

"Well… let's just say his daughter was quite revealing…" George said, making Ward clench his fist in rage.

"Is that the one that looks like Keira Knightley?" Natasha asked casually.

"No, that's the older one, this one looks like Pippa Middlet…"

"Samuels. Get out," Ward said sternly, interrupting him. George grinned at Nat and Clint before picking up his file and walking down the steps. When he got to the board he circled a word with the board-pen.

"You spelt 'occupation' wrong," George said before hurrying out. He was so dead.

…

It was late and the office was empty bar George. He had attempted to keep working but eventually his head rested on the desk and didn't rise again. Coulson nearly laughed when he saw the state of the kid, but he didn't as he was too concerned about the kid's lack of sleep. Coulson gently woke him up, but George still threw a punch in defence, which Coulson had expected and caught.

"Sorry," George stated, reclaiming his hand. "What you doing here? I thought you were away." "I got back early. Come on, I'll drive you home," Coulson said.

"I can drive myself," George mumbled, getting up slowly.

"Not happening," Coulson replied, leading the way to the garage. George walked over to his bike and reached into the pocket for his keys, but came out short. "I've got your keys, now come on," Coulson said, motioning towards the car. George sighed, but did what he was told, though initially he tried to get into the wrong side; he was English.

"You know I could have just hot-wired it," George said, trying to get comfy in the seat and failing.

"I know," Coulson said, driving off. He didn't miss how the kid tensed whenever a hazard came into a road.

"You alright?"

"Yeah… I just don't like cars…"

"Don't tell me you get car sick…" Coulson said.

"A little… I just don't like the fact you can't avoid much. There's no up or down… there's just crash or don't and then there's buildings and pedestrians…."

"Your telling me your more comfortable in a plane?"

"Yes."

"Right...because what you do in a plane isn't suicidal. Can you even drive?" Coulson asked.

"I like the thrill of the plane…and I understand the basic principles of driving… I get by on a bike… easier to avoid stuff."

"You're a weird one kid," Coulson smirked, pulling into George's place.

"I know," George replied, getting out. "You want a beer?" George asked, through the car window.

"Why not," Coulson said, getting out of the car and following him inside. "I love what you've done with the place," Coulson joked. It was the weirdest place to live that he had ever seen. George lived in an aircraft hangar, with an acrobatic plane in the middle. To the side was a collection of beautiful motorbikes and in the corner a half-wall made up of a bookcase and a bed hidden behind. "You do realise it is odd to live in a hangar in an abandoned air-port."

"It's odd to always be wearing a suit and work for a spy organisation, but you get by." "Fair point," Coulson said, taking the beer.

"How's she coming along?" Coulson asked, tapping the side of the exposed engine of the plane.

"She's nearly finished. She won't go very fast, but I'll be flying at least…"

"How are the fighter jet lessons going?" Coulson asked. George was practicing on the weekends. He was a natural at it so Coulson had recommended he expand his knowledge to Quinjets and offensive aircraft.

"You can call me Iceman," George joked.

"I thought Maverick was the hero?"

"Who said I was the hero…?" George said. It was a joke, but Phil heard the feeling behind those words. He hated how the kid thought of himself as a bad guy.

"Clint said something was bothering you earlier, before you pissed Ward off." George chuckled at that. "He had it coming," George said, before turning serious. "You know a few months back when I mentioned something was up with some of my cases. Well, I had a file today and the numbers just didn't add up. I think… I think SHIELD may have a mole." Coulson stopped mid-sip and placed his beer down.

"You have evidence?"

"No, just a lot of coincidences."

"You understand how serious this is." "I do," George replied.

"Ok… Get some sleep and bring everything to my office tomorrow."

"Ok."

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	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: The mole.**

"George, I think your worrying about nothing," Coulson said, looking through the papers. George sat up a little in his seat, under Phil's judgement. "These are no more than a few missions that weren't 100% successful."

"But there's a pattern," George argued. "Each of those missions were accurately researched and planned, but somewhere between that and the action, something went wrong. I've spoken to a few of the agents who carried them out. They didn't receive all the intel; they weren't properly informed."

"George, we don't give the agents every single detail. It is the analysts job to make sure they have what they need, but no more, there's just too much data."

"I know, but in my opinion what these agents were told was just short of everything they needed." Coulson sighed.

"Find me proof and then I'll see what I can do."

"Alright," George replied, gathering up the files and leaving the room. He was determined to find the traitor. He wouldn't let SHIELD down.

…

George knocked and walked into Blakeman's office.

"Sir," he greeted.

"Samuels, have you finished the cases I gave you already?" Blakeman asked, smiling. Blakeman was nice enough, he just didn't really scream leader.

"No Sir, not all of them. I was just wondering who was the agent who signed off on these cases," George replied, handing Blakeman a few mission reports.

"I'm not sure, I would have to check. What's caught your attention?"

"It might be nothing Sir, I just think there's been a few unnecessary errors in their handling." "I see, nothing sinister I trust?" Blakeman asked.

"Not that I can tell Sir, but I think…, with your permission that is, that I'll look into it a bit further."

"Of course, keep me informed, and I'll inform you on who the agent was."

"Thank-you Sir."

"Good luck Samuels."

…

George was walking towards his session with Coulson when he heard his name being called from behind. Turning around, he saw his boss; Blakeman, hurrying towards him.

"Agent Samuels, I'm glad I caught you. I know who made those reports. It was Harry."

"As in Harry who sits opposite me? I don't think he would of…"

"I'm not sure. You never know in these situations," Blakeman began. "Look, I want you to be my eyes and ears on this. Tell me as soon as you find anything, we must protect our organisation. Understood?"

"Absolutely Sir. I'll tell you if I have any evidence."

"Good lad. Now I'll leave you be," Blakeman finished, walking off. George then entered the training room to meet Coulson.

"You found any proof yet?" Coulson asked.

"A lead. I'll see where it goes."

"Alright. Just don't tell anyone about this you don't trust, ok?" George had a flash of worry as to be fair he didn't really know Blakeman, but he was his superior officer. Blakeman also didn't have the persona to do something like that.

"Yeah, got it," George eventually replied.

"Good."

…

A few weeks later George found more information and went straight to Blakeman's office.

"Sir, I might have something." "Shoot."

"There was a file that was given to me months ago. It was level 6, but I had been cleared by Coulson. Thinking back on it, I remembered the details I gave to the agent. I trust the guy and he assured me he gave everything to the higher ups. That mission didn't go as planned. The target was taken out before SHIELD could get there. Someone knew we were coming and stepped in. Sir, Harry doesn't have the clearance level to tamper with this intel, it had to be someone with level 6 clearance." Blakeman had sat there, quietly listen and his face grew grave at the news.

"This is an extremely serious accusation."

"Sir, the evidence is there, I'm going to take it to Coulso…."

"No," Blakeman interrupted. "Samuels, I know that you're close to Coulson, but we must keep this between ourselves for now."

"But Sir…"

"Listen to me, as soon as Coulson or anyone else hears about this there will be an investigation, and if our mole is any good he will know how to disappear. We can't risk that. No, let's keep this between us and lay a trap." George remained silent for a while, but he knew from Coulson's earlier reactions that he would react strongly to evidence of a mole. What if he let them escape?

"Ok. Let's make a trap."

…

"You know the plan?" Blakeman asked once again.

"Of course, Sir. The transaction is scheduled to be made tomorrow morning. The target arrives at 8 tonight at the hotel. I go, watch over him and if someone makes a move, I detain the aggressor and get him to tell me who gave him the intel; our mole."

"Ok. Good luck agent."

"Thank-you Sir."

"Remember, you're not actually there. You still aren't old enough for field work." "Ok Sir," George replied, taking off to the hotel in Washington.

…

George had broken into the target's room and laid out the cameras. Then he went to the next room and set up his laptop and prepared to wait. 8 o'clock on the dot the target arrived. It was a couple of hours later when he saw movement. George quickly ran and smashed through the door, entering the room. In front of him a man aimed a gun at the target and just as George was about to throw a knife, something grabbed him from behind. He was knocked and pinned down. Before he knew it, the fired gun was placed in his grip and the other guy was about to fire again. George retaliated and fought back. He could delay them, but he was no match for the two experienced fighters. All he could do was pray as he smashed through the window and landed on a car below.

"Shit…shit…shit," he mumbled, scrambling to his feet and legging it to his bike, parked opposite. George climbed on and sped away, finding an alley where he could phone Blakeman and check the damage to himself.

George turned the phone Blakeman had given him on and he called the speed dial. The phone just went to answer every time.

"Jesus Christ," George yelled, stumbling to the floor. He placed a hand on his side and felt a piece of glass imbedded within. "Fuck," he cried, pulling it out and putting pressure on the wound. George then picked up the phone again and rang Coulson.

"Coulson?" George called, when the phone picked up.

"This is Director Fury of SHIELD. Don't try to run, we will find you and put you down, understood. The block is surrounded."

"What? What the fuck are you talking about. I just got the crap taken out on me for protecting SHIELD's interests," George shouted back. What the hell was happening?

"Nice try kid, but you've fooled us long enough. Your responsible for the death of an ambassador and will be treated as a criminal and a murderer. You have five minutes to come out peacefully before we come in." George tried to respond but the line suddenly went dead. Ambassador? What?

…

"Sir. He didn't do this," Coulson argued, from where he had been forced to stand across the room, whilst Fury took the call.

"I agree with Coulson," Clint stated.

"Am I the only one using my eye to see today? There is a video recording of him entering the hotel and breaking into the room; even him holding the murder weapon," Fury stated. "Not to mention the evidence regarding a mole within SHIELD."

"Sir, George was looking for a mole, he wasn't one himself," Coulson argued.

"I'm sorry Coulson, but he had us all fooled," Blakeman replied, he had delivered the evidence to Fury earlier.

"George wouldn't use a gun. He can't," Coulson pointed out.

"You're telling me, a kid who has been a weapons dealer for half his life can't fire a gun. Coulson, he is a traitor and he will be treated as such. End of."

"Sir…" Coulson tried.

"End of Phil!" Fury shouted. There was a pause when Phil's shoulders slumped and he couldn't look Fury in the eye.

"Sir?" Clint suddenly voiced. "I ask permission to bring him in. Put me on the strike team."

"They are already in place."

"Then hold the order. Please sir, we don't want this to get messy."

"Fine. Get yourself down there."

"I'll come with you," Blakeman said. "He's under my command."

…

"Target is on the move," one of the strike teams voiced when they saw George walk through the busy streets into the huge hard-wear warehouse opposite.

"Keep him in visual," Fury instructed.

"Copy Sir."

Clint and Blakeman jumped out of the car and walked towards the undercover team.

"He just entered the building. There's too many civilians around to launch a proper assault. He's alone and we believe unarmed."

"I'll go in," Clint said.

"Me too," Blakeman replied.

"You sure about this?"

"It's my job Agent Barton. I'm going in."

"Ok. I'll take the front entrance, you the back."

"Ok."

…

George hurried into the office room of the warehouse, he had little time. He had heard the doors open behind him, someone had entered the building. He quickly started up the computers and loaded the software, before running to the next. He just hoped his plan would work.

"Stop right there," Blakeman said behind him. George froze. "Put your hands on your head and step away from the computer." George did as he was told and stepped backwards, Blakeman grabbed his arm and kicked his legs out, so he fell to a kneeling position. Blakeman looked at the screen and laughed. "Nice try," Blakeman said, closing the failed web-cam software.

"Nice try at what Blakeman? Catching the real mole?" George accused and he knew he was right by the guy's face.

"Did you enjoy our little game? You see I've been leaking SHIELD's secrets for years for money and no-one ever noticed till you. You, the recruit from god-knows what background, so desperate to gain the trust of the leaders of SHIELD. You, who let me convince you to try and catch a mole, all so I could set you up."

"You do this by yourself?" George asked, making sure there weren't any more moles.

"Not all of it, but that doesn't matter now." George shuffled when he heard a slight noise from outside the room.

"Your times running out kid. Barton's on his way and I can't keep you alive." "Really? Because I think there's no point in killing me, your secrets already out there." "What?" Blakeman asked.

"Look to your left Blakeman," George said, grinning. He always had a back-up plan. Two webcams, two computers and two chances at SHIELD seeing the evidence. Blakeman touched the mouse and the screen lit up showing the live picture of Fury's office, Fury and Phil stood side by side.

"It's over Blakeman," Coulson stated. Fury just looked shocked and like he was going to kill someone.

"You little shit!" Blakeman yelled, smacking his gun into George's face. The kid hit the floor, spitting out blood. Blakeman then kicked him in the gut.

…

"We've lost signal with Barton, we can't warn him," Coulson stated, frantically trying to get contact to Clint, whilst Fury rallied the tactical team.

…

The sound outside the room suddenly became louder and Blakeman shifted his attention to the door. "I ain't going down without taking agents with me," Blakeman stated, aiming the gun at the entrance. George had heard Coulson over the link and knew that Clint was about to enter the room. He couldn't let him die due to him. George forced himself to his feet and ran at Blakeman, just as the door started opening and Blakeman fired his gun.

Clint had opened the door and suddenly had it slam closed as he heard bullets being fired. Barton grabbed his gun and pushed the door open, firing a head shot towards Blakeman before the man could fire against himself. Blakeman fell to the ground dead and Clint focused his attention on the kid, lying on his front, next to the door.

"Shit," Clint swore, rolling him over and seeing the damage.

"Barton," someone called and Clint looked up to see Coulson on a screen.

"Send a med team!" Clint shouted, not caring about the fact his boss was talking to him.

"Clint…"

"Send the fucking team!" he screamed, tearing his shirt off and pressing against the kid's bullet wound, also noticing the embedded glass in his stomach. George moaned under the pressure before his chest suddenly stopped rising and he started gasping from lack of oxygen.

"Come on…come on…breathe!" Clint yelled. George still had a pulse, but his lung had collapsed.

"Shit…shit…," Clint mumbled as he stood and scrambled around the room before he found a pen. "This better work," Clint said as he pulled the cartridge out, making a hole in the kid's chest with his knife and stabbed the kid with the plastic, making an air-way into the lung. Instantly the kid bucked and gasped in air, coughing up some blood. "Easy… easy… just look at me…" Clint said as the kid's blurred gaze, noticed the pen stabbed into this body. Clint had to pin him down as the kid was twisting to get away from the pain of Clint's hand on his abdomen and the plastic in his lung. "Come on Sam! Focus!" he yelled as George seemed to go delirious. His eyes then closed and Clint couldn't help himself, he slapped the kid on the face, making his eyes flutter but not open. "No, no no! Come on!" Clint yelled, he didn't notice Coulson speaking to him or the med-team come in.

He just kept his eyes focused on the bloody body beneath him, the bloody kid that had just saved his life.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: recovery**

"Agent Morse, how long are you planning on sitting there?" Maria Hill asked from behind one of her desks outside Fury's office.

"Till he agrees to see me," Bobbi replied, shuffling in the waiting chair.

"You know you're only annoying me right now," Hill replied, she had been Fury's second in command for about four weeks which meant she was the second most important person in SHIELD, yet she still had to deal with this shit. Not that she didn't like Bobbi, but she was not in the mood.

"Well, I'll sit here until you're sufficiently annoyed to make Fury see me." At that point Fury came out of his office, handing Hill a file and giving her instructions. Hill left straight away, glad to be out of there. Hill handled most of the business in the Triskellion and thus was walking around the building a lot. Whereas Fury remained in his office, managing the SHIELD network. Fury made to go back to his office but saw Bobbi out of the corner of his eye.

"You're still here," Fury stated.

"Yes Sir," Bobbi replied. Fury then looked at his watch and sighed.

"Five minutes agent Morse, no more," Fury said, walking back into his office and Bobbi followed him. Fury went and sat behind his desk, waving his arm to let Bobbi speak.

"Sir, it's been six weeks since Agent Morton was arrested and found guilty of being a mole of SHIELD. That's six weeks since I have been on a mission."

"Agent Morse, a suitable replacement for Agent Morton is being found, currently there are no spare level 6 agents free to take up the position. Yourself and the rest of the agents in your division will have to wait"

"Sir, I don't want a replacement."

"Then what do you want Agent Morse, because right now I'm too concerned about getting rid of a group of traitors in my midst to worry about what's on your Christmas list."

"I want my own team," Bobbi stated, Fury just looked at her. "Sir, for the last five years I have had a 96% success rate on all of my missions. I am devoted to my work and SHIELD. I think I have earned the opportunity to have my own team."

"Agent Morse, you want your own analysts and tech crew?"

"Yes Sir."

"What about all the other agents that have been waiting for this opportunity longer than you?" Fury asked.

"I'm better than them Sir," Bobbi stated. Fury pressed a button on his phone.

"Hill, get Coulson up here." "Yes Sir," came the reply.

"Tell me agent Morse, did you suspect Morton at all?"

"Honestly? No sir. I was just as shocked by him as I was by Blakeman. Do we know if there's any more of them?"

"No, not yet. That's why security is still so tight."

"We all understand sir," Bobbi stated. Fury nodded, though he knew many agents were not happy about all their work being scrutinised severely. There was a knock on the door and Hill opened it to let Coulson in.

"Sir. Agent Morse," Coulson greeted. Bobbi nodded in return.

"Coulson, Agent Morse here is extremely eager to have her own team," Fury began. "And I'm willing to grant her that wish."

"She won't let you down Sir," Coulson replied and Bobbi smiled at him, Coulson had always been a support. "The problem is agent Morse, the person I think who is perfect for the job of team leader is currently unavailable," Fury said. "For how long?" Bobbi asked.

"That is unknown," Fury answered cryptically. "Coulson, please take Agent Morse here down to see Agent Samuels."

"Sir?" Coulson asked, confused.

"Surely you agree he is worthy of the job?" Fury questioned.

"Sir, of course, but…"

"I'm sure agent Morse will understand the reason for the delay when you introduce them. And tell Barton I'll be there at five minutes late for my shift at least."

"Sir," Coulson finished, leading Bobbi out.

…

"Coulson, who is Agent Samuels, I've never heard of him," Bobbi asked in the elevator. Coulson let out a small sigh and Bobbi noticed how tired the guy looked.

"Agent Samuels joined SHIELD roughly a year and a half ago and has spent all that time stationed here, that's why you haven't met him."

"He must of have good credentials to have a spot at the Triskellion straight away," Bobbi pointed out.

"Somewhat. He provided significant intel that led to the take down of the Hamlet organisation." "Jesus, you'd been working on that since before I left for Mexico. How'd he come by that intel?" "He was one of them," Coulson replied.

"You found a whistle-blower?"

"He found us."

"Did you ever found out why it was called Hamlet? Did they have some fetish for Shakespeare?"

"The Lion King, I believe," Coulson said causing Bobbi to smile. She loved how Coulson's expression would barely change when he said the most ridiculous things.

"So, he gives us the intel, you take down Hamlet, then we hire him." Coulson nodded. "Then how after a year and a half does Fury have him on a high horse? A whistle-blower is a mole for our enemies, not someone I would of thought Fury would trust." Coulson then turned into the med-bay which confused Bobbi, but she stayed silent.

"Because in the year and a half he worked here, Samuels got three times the amount of work done than the other level 4 analysts. He completed nearly all our dead-in-the-water cases and 2 months ago he exposed Blakeman as a mole within SHIELD and provided us with knowledge of the existence of further traitors." Bobbi stopped walking, this guy was the real deal.

"Is that why he can't take the role straight away, because he's still searching for the other moles?" Coulson suddenly looked bleak.

"I wish that were the case. This way," Coulson guided as they walked into the 'long stay' area of the med-bay. Bobbi noticed how the area seemed to be under a form of lock-down, with only one patient and only the essential staff. "Meet Agent Samuels," Coulson said as they stopped by the glass of one of the rooms. Barton was sat in the chair beside the medical bed, cleaning his bow meticulously. Bobbi could have sworn he looked like he had ages five years since she last saw him. He had a few bags under his eyes like Coulson and seemed to have taken residence in the chair for a while. Beside him was a medical bed with a number of instruments surrounding it, all beeping and giving off different data. On the bed itself, laid a still figure, dressed in a medical gown, with a blanket up to his waist. He had at least three lines in his arm and there was an incubator in his mouth. The figure itself was a boy, about 20 years old. Was this supposed to be Agent Samuels?

"Samuels discovered there was a mole within SHIELD and took the information to his superior officer;

Blakeman," Coulson began. "Blakeman set it up, made it look like Samuels was our target. He cornered the kid and exposed himself unknowingly on camera. Barton entered the room to take Samuels in, only to have the kid jump in front of the bullet from Blakeman. He's been in a coma for 2 months. Nearly a year and a half ago he saved my life. If you want someone to trust with your missions Bobbi, it's this kid. If you're willing, he's worth the wait," Coulson said before he entered the room, taking his place in the chair next to Clint, leaving Bobbi to stare at the young agent.

…

It was another three weeks of splitting the watch between Clint, Nat, Fury and Coulson before George showed signs of waking up. They had all had to stand guard to ensure that any moles remaining within SHIELD wouldn't retaliate or try to save their own skin, for fear of George tracking them down when he woke up. The kid found evidence that was so hidden, everyone else had missed it.

"You guys want a coffee?" Nat asked, peering her head round the door.

"No thank-you," Coulson replied and Clint shook his head. Nat sighed and placed her hand on Clint's arm, before running another through his short hair.

"You haven't showered in two days," she stated bluntly, Clint smiled a little.

"Is it so obvious?" Clint asked.

"Yes," she stated bluntly again.

"Well I was busy."

"Doing what, sitting here? It wasn't your shift. And it wasn't yours either Coulson. You two need to stop worrying," she said, crossing her arms. "Nothing is going to happen to him. He's waking up and no-one can reach him here; we're protecting him." Coulson just rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Coulson's not worried about him, he's worried about himself. The kid's going to start beating his ass in the training room again," Clint joked but it was half-hearted. Nat sighed in hopelessness at their stubbornness. "I'm going to go get some things for him. Clothes and stuff. That's the first thing he's going to complain about; the medical gown."

"Make sure you bring a shirt," Coulson said quietly. "He likes shirts." Nat didn't comment on it and walked out.

As soon as she did there was a slight shift in the hand beside Clint and the archer jumped to his feet, causing

Coulson to mimic him. "What is it?"

"'Sam'? Can you hear me kid?" Clint asked, holding the hand and leaning over him. Coulson walked over to the door and called for a doctor.

"What's the problem?" Dr. Stack asked.

"His hand moved," Clint said. Dr. Stack then went over and checked the data.

"The readings are holding steady, are you sure?" Stack asked, but at the same moment George's eyes fluttered. "I need a nurse in here, we need to get the incubator out." Coulson went back to the door and called one, who came quickly. George's eyes started opening and his brow furrowed as he felt something down his throat. "Ok, he's panicking, hold him down whilst we take it out," the Dr. stated and Clint and Phil pinned George's legs and arms. The nurse held George's head still as his eyes fully opened and he stared terrified at the tube exiting his mouth. When it was finally out George gasped for breath and Coulson took over the nurse's position. "George, hey, calm down. Easy, it's me; Coulson. You're safe kid," Phil said, as Clint continued to stop his struggling.

"He needs to have this on," the Dr. stated, handing Coulson a breathing mask.

"Ok, nice and calm kid. This will help you breathe," Coulson continued, placing the mask over the kid's mouth and nose, he would deal with the strap when he was sure Clint wasn't going to get kneed in the head. Able to get oxygen George calmed down slightly and recognised Coulson, but he didn't see anyone else and he started remembering what had happened. The grip on George's arm lessened and he pulled it loose to knock the mask away.

"Barton…," George gasped, worry in his eyes. Coulson suddenly stepped back, but Clint took his place. Clint picked up the mask and placed it back on the kid's mouth and nose.

"I'm here kid," Clint said and George closed his eyes in relief, Clint was alive. Then there was a hand squeezing his shoulder and George opened his eyes again. "Hey, no sleeping. You've done enough of that." George just looked at him confused before he noticed how tired the two of them looked. George reached for the mask again, but Clint stopped him. "That needs to stay on," Clint said, placing the strap over his head.

"We need to ask you some questions," Coulson stated and the kid reached for the mask. It was Coulson this time that placed it back. "They're going to be yes or no questions."

"So, blink once for yes, twice for no," Clint said, before he set the bed to a more sat up position. He made sure to do it slowly, George's chest was still going to be sore. "Wouldn't it be easier the other way around?" Coulson asked.

"Well I always did it this way."

"What do you mean 'always did it this way', when was the last time you had to…," Coulson replied only to be interrupted by a hit in the chest. The two of them looked back to George who was looking somewhere between pissed off and amused.

"Sorry," they both mumbled at the same time.

"Ok, do you know where you are?" Coulson asked. George blinked twice.

"Medical," Clint replied and George rolled his eyes, that bit was obvious. "Triskellion."

"Do you remember what happened?" George blinked twice, his memory was a bit sketchy. "Do you remember anything?" George blinked once. "Well that's a relief," Clint said, running a hand through his hair. Coulson gave him a glare. "What? You never know, we could have a John Doe…ish person here."

"Yeah a John Doe is when we don't know who he is."

"Hence the ish," Clint justified, this time George hit Clint. "Sorry kid, it's been a weird couple of months." Shit…Clint shouldn't have said that; George's eyes grew wide in terror.

"What?" George asked through his mask, so it came out all fuzzy.

"You took a bullet to an already bleeding chest, your lung collapsed and well… George you've been in a coma for two months," Coulson said. George blinked a few times, not in answer but as he tried to work out what Coulson had just told him. George reached for his mask but again they stopped him, so George made a pen motion. Clint grabbed a pad and a pen and handed it to him. It was quite messy as George couldn't see what he was writing but Clint could read it. "What happened to Blakeman?" Clint read.

"Clint dealt with him," Coulson stated and by the look on his face George didn't need any more explanation. He started writing again.

"His associ…associates?" Clint read again.

"Fury organised an investigation within half an hour," Coulson answered. "We've found three other moles here in D.C and they've been put into custody. We are unsure if there are anymore, so we've had a small team watch over you just in case. That means you're not being left alone till you're fit enough to fight back."

'Who?' George wrote.

"Myself, Clint, Romanoff and Fury. We didn't know who we could trust," Coulson replied. George didn't know how to react to that. Those four people had sat by his bedside for two months whilst he just laid there. 'Fury doesn't trust me' George wrote. Coulson took the paper and crossed out the word 'doesn't' and replaced it. "'Didn't' trust you kid. 'Didn't'."

"You should get some sleep, we can talk more later," Clint said after George's eyes started to droop. Coulson said goodbye and Clint returned to his chair. "Don't even think about it," Clint said as the kid started to move his hand upwards to the mask. George smiled and just moved the mask slightly before he had to close his eyes and went back to sleep.

…

George woke up and found a nurse changing his I.V. He reached up and moved his mask.

"Morning," he whispered.

"Afternoon," she corrected before sitting his bed up, at that point George saw Fury sat in the chair in the corner, reading a file.

"So how long am I gonna be here?" George asked the nurse.

"For as long as you're told to be," the nurse replied before leaving the room.

"I don't think she likes me very much," George said. Fury closed the file, placing it on the side-table before finally looking at him.

"Oh, she's a real Nurse Ratched," Fury stated. "But she's trustworthy."

"I… I hope that… that I've gained some trust," George stated. Fury stood and walked over to the bed.

"The last time I trusted someone completely I lost an eye. It makes it difficult for me to listen to those who I still do trust. You saved Coulson's life, you saved Barton's and you took down a threat to SHIELD. I think I'll give you some slack kid."

"Thank-you sir," George replied, he didn't think he would ever hear those words.

…

"How do you do that?" George whined when Clint threw his dart into the back of George's.

"Practice," Clint replied, smirking.

"But… I practice…"

"You can hit the bulls-eye every-time, what's your problem?" Clint asked, flicking through the channels on the TV.

"Well that looks cooler," George replied making Clint laugh. George then slowly stood up, walking over and pulling out the darts. He looked a lot better, he was allowed to get out of bed and he was wearing trackies and a shirt instead of a med-gown. Clint reached out to take his three but George pulled his hand away. "You can have your darts if you let me out of this room."

"Two more days' kid, Dr.'s orders," Clint stated.

"The Dr.'s a dick," George said, putting the darts down. "He isn't even here, he wouldn't know."

"Yes, he would, they always find out."

"Well I don't care," George stated, walking to the door. Clint stood and got there before he could, George was still slow.

"You'll wear yourself out before you get to the elevator kid," Clint said.

"Then I'll take breaks," George responded trying to get past. Clint noticed how the kid didn't deny his claim. He stood there assessing George's state before finally sighing.

"Well you aren't going anywhere dressed like that," Clint stated and George instantly perked up.

"You serious?"

"Yes," Clint said, walking over to the drawer and bringing out some real trousers, socks and boots from the cupboard. "Put those on, I'm going to tell Nat where we're going before Fury sends out a search party." "Hey Clint," George called before he left the room. "Thanks."

…

George stood in the elevator, trying to look energetic anytime Barton looked him over. After a couple of floors, the door opened and a very tall female agent entered.

"Clint," she greeted, smiling.

"Bobbi," he replied, George noticed how there was a little bit of tension between them. They so had had a fling.

"Have you met…"

"Agent Samuels," she finished, "nice to meet you," she said, holding out her arm. George shook it a little confused. "I've been following your work. I've actually been the field agent assigned to some of your cases in the past."

"I just deal with the paperwork," George replied a little awkwardly, neither of the other two occupants of the elevator missed how his face had paled a little. Clint was beginning to consider heading back, the kid was about to faint.

"Well, this is my floor. I'll see you two later," Bobbi said, as she left she gave Clint a concerned look. As soon as the door closed, Clint had to catch the kid as he swayed a little.

"This is the last time you talk me into anything," Clint said, leaning the kid against the wall.

"I'm good," George argued, trying to stand properly.

"Let's just get outside," Clint said as they got to the ground floor. Clint didn't care about George's reputation and pulled his arm over his shoulder. He had to support him quite a lot before they made it outside and Clint lowered the kid down onto the wall next to the water. Clint then crouched in front of him as George rested his head against his chest. "You alright?" George made a thumbs up. "I would prefer words."

"I just need a minute," George replied, lifting his head up. As soon as he felt the sun on his face he cheered up.

"I've missed that." Clint put a hand on the kid's shoulder as he sat down.

"I'm sorry kid."

"For what?" George asked.

"You got shot because of me."

"What? Clint I… How is any of this your fault? Blakeman was the one who shot me. And… and I was the idiot who didn't tell Coulson about the evidence I found. I could have stopped this. As if I believed I could have found the mole by myself…" Clint squeezed his shoulder before letting go.

"When Coulson recruited me, he became my handler. I used to be an assassin and SHIELD decided to take those skills and used them for a better purpose."

"Clint, you don't have to…"

"It was my first mission," Barton continued, ignoring him. "My cover was blown and Coulson told me to abort.

I told him to shut the fuck up and carried on." George smirked.

"You haven't changed."

"No," Clint said before looking more serious. "I got taken and Coulson got me out. He risked his life for me and got hit. I still carry the guilt. You just have to remember that you make mistakes. It's better to have good intentions then have good successes." George nodded, he'd heard that before.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: the academy**

"George!" someone shouted causing the kid to jump and hit his head on the plane he was fixing. "Mother…fucker…"

"Language," Coulson warned, crouching down next to the plane.

"What the hell Coulson?" George replied. "You heard of knocking, or even calling before you come by? It's a Sunday morning who knows who I might have round." Coulson smiled at that.

"You're too busy to have a love-life," he said bluntly, going over to the fridge and putting some groceries inside, whilst George climbed out from under the plane. "You know you're supposed to put food in this thing right," Coulson stated, closing the previously empty fridge.

"I eat out," George said, though he was thankful to Coulson for the thought. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"You've been slacking. I'm here for training."

"I haven't been slacking, I've been in the gym every day for the last week. You know it's painful to work-out after a bullet goes through you."

"Field agents are required to be in peak physical condition 24/7." "Well, I'm not a field agent," George pointed out.

"Not yet. Come on, let's go for a run." George sighed.

"Give me five minutes," he replied, going to his room (corner) to change.

"I'll be outside," Coulson stated. If Fury was going to follow up on his plan to send George to the Academy they better get training.

* * *

"'Sam'?" Fury asked.

"Sir?" George replied, turning around from the glass wall to Fury's desk.

"You want to tell me why you've been staring at that wall for five minutes."

"Huh? …sorry, I was reading." Fury just looked at him. "In my head. The images in my mind… yeah that sounded less insane before I said it." Fury smirked before closing the file and walking over to him.

"That's good work," Fury stated, handing over the file.

"Thank-you Sir," George replied.

"So, are you sure we've got everyone now?" Fury asked.

"Yes sir. It's been six weeks since the last mole was discovered. In terms of Blakeman's gang, I think we're done."

"You're not filling me with confidence over other spies," Fury pointed out.

"I'm not trying to Sir. SHIELD has enemies." Fury sighed, it was all too true.

"So, how's Coulson as a boss?" Fury asked, he was glad that he himself had always been above Phil, he could be a hard ass.

"Let's just say there's not a muscle that isn't aching, including my mind." Fury smiled. "It's great though. I've never been in better shape and the work is better now. I like it."

"Well, you're going to have to go without Coulson's instruction for a while. I'm sending you to the Academy." "Sir?"

"I want you to check out the new recruit's credentials, make sure we aren't recruiting anymore Blakemans.

You're now our number one mole finder."

"Sir, I don't know. Blakeman was a lucky catch." Fury sighed.

"No, he wasn't. Your work as an analyst is incomparable. You can spot patterns that computers can't and you've basically memorised our intel up to level 6."

"Only because I don't like typing," George mumbled.

"Your flights booked for tomorrow morning, Hill will send you the details. Go to the Academy, look for moles and see if you can teach them how it's done."

"Ok Sir, I'll go. I just have one request."

"Shoot."

"Can I fly myself?" Fury smiled and agreed, dismissing him.

* * *

"Agent Samuels," a woman greeted when he got off his plane. "I'm agent Weaver, Head of Science and

Development here at the Academy."

"Pleasure," George replied, shaking her hand.

"Let me show you around," she said, leading him inside.

"So, what is this place exactly. A teenage Spy camp?" George asked, seeing all the recruits walking around. "Something like that. There are three different sections. Operations, Communications and Science. Fury made it clear as to why you're here agent, so we've decided you're our new operations recruit."

"Excuse me?" George asked, realising he had been led to a bedroom, with recruits walking around and music playing.

"Feel free to unpack your things. I'll have one of your class mates pick you up, George."

"What?"

"Welcome to the Academy. And just so we are clearer, myself and agent Banks are the only ones who know who you are," Agent Weaver said before leaving.

"People call me Sam," George called before she was out of ear-shot. "I'm going to kill Fury," George mumbled, dropping his bag.

George sat down and waited; it took about five minutes before a cadet arrived.

"Hey, I'm Kate, you're George Samuels, right?" the girl asked.

"Call me Sam," he replied.

"Nice to meet you." "You too."

"So, are you going to keep sitting there or do you want to come meet people." George smiled and stood.

"You get many recluses?" George asked, following her out.

"A few. Operations recruits people from weird backgrounds. Not many like to talk."

"Are you one of those?"

"I have a few secrets, everyone does," Kate said, walking through more corridors. "What about you? What's your background?"

"I… uh… I was merc. You?"

"Straight out of school, I was the captain of my state karate club." "I'll bear that in mind," George said, causing her to smile.

"You should," Kate replied, walking into the common room. "Guys!" Kate called and the recruits round the room looked up. "Meet our new rookie."

* * *

"Another," the coach shouted as George ran past him for the ninth time.

"Note to self; kill Fury slowly," George mumbled as he carried on running. The heat was killing him and now he knew why Coulson had been insisting on so many runs on hot days. He had been preparing him for this.

"Another!" George was going to have to kill Coulson too.

It was a simple test. You had to keep running until you dropped out or passed out. Currently there were only three of the twenty recruits left running. George, Kate and some guy George hadn't learnt the name of yet.

He had had one night to settle in and then the fun had begun, 5a.m sharp. "Another!"

George was becoming delirious, this was killing him but he wasn't at his limit yet, he'd keep going. "Another!" Holy shit… breathe… just breathe… "Another!" Oh god… oh god… George crossed the line and heard that horrible word once again but he couldn't do it. Shit… George stopped at the side of the track and slowly laid down, panting. He was pretty sure he passed out when someone raised his head, pouring water into his mouth.

"Drink kid," the coach said, as he held George's head steady. George gulped some water down before he spat it out to the side, choking. "Take sips," the coach continued. Coulson wouldn't be happy; he always drank too quickly. When he could hold the bottle on his own the coach backed off a little and George took bigger gulps before spraying his face with the rest.

Finally, looking around he saw the rest of the recruits sat in the stalls, cooled down. Judging by their faces George had done something odd.

"Up we go," the coach said as he pulled George to his feet and handed him a towel. "What's your name son?" the coach asked.

"Sam," he gasped out.

"Agent Baxter," the coach replied, shaking his hand. "Get some rest kid, you've earned it," he continued, clapping him on the back and sending him off to the showers. Apparently, he was allowed to skip the lecture that the other recruits were getting.

George found himself sitting down in the shower, his legs felt like jelly. Eventually he heard the others come in and got out; wrapping a towel round his waist. He should have gotten out sooner; now they might see his scar.

"Great first day huh?" Kate said, walking up to him.

"Is it always that hard?" George asked, he was really considering calling Fury up and quitting.

"Hard? You just obliterated the record."

"What?"

"I stopped three circuits before you did, you were going for twenty minutes after the rest of us stopped." "Oh," George said, now understanding what the looks were for. "I didn't see. Who had the record before?" he continued, trying to make more conversation. He was supposed to blend in not stick out so much.

"Grant Ward," Kate replied and George grimaced.

"Sounds like a douche."

"Well that douche, was the best agent to come out of the academy in the last ten years. He's now level 5 at the

Triskellion. Many people here would kill for that job."

"I have no idea what that means," George replied, pulling a shirt on before he got questions.

"It's quite easy. There's 10 levels of clearance. Level 1 – you're incompetent. Level 10, you're Nick Fury, the

Director of SHIELD if you didn't know."

"Let's just assume I know nothing," George replied, you never know what detail Kate might slip when presumably talking to an idiot.

"Well, if you're level 5 or higher, you've made it. Fury's 10, Hill (the new deputy) 9, Coulson and Hand are 8's.

Then there's field agents like Hawkeye and Black Widow, there 7's."

"I'm sorry, did you just say Hawkeye and Black Widow?" George asked, laughing at the names. He always found Clint's call-sign hilarious.

"You really know nothing don't you?" Kate said and George nodded.

"I'm the rookie remember."

"Well. Hawkeye and Black Widow make up Strike Team Delta. They're the most effective team in SHIELD. It's said they were trained by Fury and that they make their own missions. 100% deniability. They're deadly." George had to hide his thoughts after hearing all that. Yes, they were an effective team, but everything after that was bullshit. Clint was raised in a carnie and recruited by Coulson, Romanoff the KGB and recruited by Clint. They also certainly did not have 100% deniability. George had witnessed Clint getting yelled at by Coulson in his office, when he'd wished he had been allowed to leave. Though he didn't know Natasha too well he knew they were not deadly. Clint was perhaps one of the most warm-hearted guys he knew in the profession. The academy was a place of gossip and competition. He just needed to find out who the bad seeds were.

* * *

It had been a week and George had finally gained a moment of free time to go outside and make a call.

"Coulson?" George called.

"George, how's school?" Coulson teased.

"Very funny. You know you could have just told me. You and Fury have a shit sense of humour."

"You're doing well though, I heard you beat Ward's record."

"Yeah well it's about to get pretty awful. You do realise they test cadets on weapons, what the hell am I supposed to do then?"

"I spoke to Agent Banks; he's split the cadets into groups on a rotation. You're assigned to knife-work first.

You have a week before you move to explosives. I assume you're fine with those?"

"Yes, I can blow things up. Don't you remember my plane," George replied, annoyed.

"Are you still upset about that."

"It was a good plane."

"And you're fixing a new one up."

"That's not the point Coulson," George argued. "Anyway, you're going off topic. How am I supposed to catch any bad seeds if I'm stuck in class all day? They aren't just going to tell me my back-stories."

"They will if you get close to them. Remember every detail of what they tell you. In two weeks, you're going to be given their files and you can check if everything they've said matched. In two weeks, you're going to blow your cover and write down who the liars are."

"Coulson, just because they've lied about something to me, doesn't make them a traitor."

"No, it doesn't. Fury wants you to make two lists, the traitors and the liars."

"And what happens to the liars?"

"We send them undercover," Coulson replied before ending the call. George smirked, this wasn't about catching moles, he could do that with the paperwork, this was about sifting out the soldiers from the spies.

* * *

Two weeks later, George was pulled out of lessons and given the intel by Weaver. Half an hour later he had his first list. Five hours after that, he had his second. The liars and the traitors; many of which played a role in both. Twenty recruits, eight liars, four moles.

"'Sam'" Fury greeted over the phone.

"Did you get my lists?" George replied.

"I did, are you sure about the moles?"

"Yes sir, their histories don't match up. They have links to bad people."

"You know last year we would have probably hired them all."

"And that's how Blakemans rise sir," George said, it was pushing it but Fury appreciated honesty. There was a pause when there was no response.

"Finish up there, then start sorting out the science and communications sector. I want a list for both those departments as well."

"Yes, Sir. Should I go through all of the recruits, or just the final year cadets?"

"Give Banks the list of traitors you already have, do the same with Weaver at science for the final year recruits and then at Communications. Then get yourself back to D.C, you can check out the rest here and give me the names directly. I want to watch them, try and return the favour," Fury said.

"Yes Sir," George replied, before getting to work.

* * *

"So, you're leaving," Kate said as she watched him pack his bags. "I thought something was up when you were gone all day."

"The Academy's not really for me," George replied, emptying his drawers.

"You're two weeks in and you've passed every test they've given you. You're not giving up, they've recruited you." George froze. "I'm right aren't I? SHIELD's grabbed you early." George didn't really know how to argue no, so he went with it.

"I'm being sent to the Hub, that's all they told me."

"Well then Agent George Samuels, I hope to see you there soon," Kate said, giving him a kiss on the cheek before leaving.

"Never going to happen," George said to himself, before he made his way to his plane. Kate was a traitor and a liar. He would never see her again.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Bobbi**

"It's good to be home," George stated, driving his bike up to the Triskellion. He was very surprised to see Agent Hill, waiting for him.

"Morning," she said as he climbed off his bike.

"What did I do?" George asked, concerned.

"Nothing. I brought you a coffee," Hill said, handing it to him. George took it, growing more confused. "And homework," Hill continued, shoving three files into his spare arm. George gasped winded as he tried to cradle them.

"Thanks," he mumbled, changing his grip.

"Come on," she said, already walking off.

"Why don't we try something like: 'Hey Sam, how was the Academ…'" George quickly shut-up when he saw her glare. "I thought you said you wouldn't do that anymore."

"Would you prefer I yell at you in the middle of a corridor?" Hill asked, before they entered the elevator. They stood in silence whilst other people walked in.

"The flight was nice by the way," George stated; that pushed the line.

Coulson was walking past the lift when he saw three agents quickly exit it and heard shouting coming from inside.

"Agent Hill," Coulson greeted as she walked past him.

"You deal with him!" she stated, taking the stairs and throwing a coffee into the bin.

"Hey Coulson," George said, walking out of the lift.

"One day… you're back one day…"

"A morning actually," George corrected and Coulson sighed.

"Follow me," he said, leading the kid down the hallway, second floor from the top.

"Coulson, your office is that way," George pointed out, as they went in the opposite direction.

"We're not going to my office," Coulson said, before stopping by a room with George's name on it.

"No way," he stated, opening the door and revealing his own office.

"Level 5 analysts get offices. Here you go."

"I was level 5 before I went to the Academy," George pointed out, admiring the view.

"We pay our decorators badly," Coulson explained. "Too many Quinjets." "This is so cool," George said, turning back to Coulson.

"Well don't get too comfy, Fury hasn't decided where to properly assign you yet."

"I thought you said you had a few cases you wanted me to look at?"

"I do and you still have the lists to make for Fury, but after that you may be needed elsewhere." "Ok," George mumbled, not really listening as he looked around.

"I'll leave you to get acquainted with the furniture," Coulson teased, before leaving. George mumbled ok again, but was really admiring his new surroundings some more. He had a glass far wall, a desk, two guest chairs and a sofa with a coffee table. This was awesome he thought, collapsing into his own chair.

A little while later there was a knock on his door. George spun round and saw Clint stood in the doorway.

"Permission to enter?" Barton teased, before he just walked in and looked out the window himself. "Nice view." "Jealous?" George replied, spinning in his chair which made Clint smile.

"I don't need a desk," Clint stated.

"Neither do I," George replied, "but I have one."

"Shut-up," Barton said, before sitting on the kid's couch. "How was the Academy?"

"Very weird. It's like a teenage spy school."

"It is a teenage spy school," Clint pointed out, resting his feet on the table.

"They all know about Hawkeye and Black Widow," George said. "Well, they think they do. Most of them believe Fury raised you both, I even had one guy tell me you two were married." Clint couldn't help but laugh at that.

"You would think that they would have more sense. Tasha's more likely to shoot me than marry me."

"Don't get cocky Barton," George said smiling, "you're not worth a bullet." "You're asking for a fight kid," Clint stated, grinning.

"You've been away gramps; Coulson was whipping me into shape before my brief education." "Best of three?"

"Deal," George agreed, as they both went to the training room. He'd already emailed Fury the list after Coulson had shown him his office. He had finished it overnight.

* * *

George was sat at his desk, going over a case when he heard a knock.

"Go away Barton," he yelled, not bothering to look up.

"Did he damage your eyesight in that last fight?" a female voice called. George jumped and looked up to see agent Morse stood there. He got to his feet quickly.

"Do all field agents knock the same?" he asked, motioning to a chair.

"Only the best ones," she replied before sitting down.

"So, what can I help you with Agent Morse?"

"Bobbi, please," she said and George got slightly lost in her eyes.

"Sam then," George replied, only Coulson used his first name.

"Sam," Bobbi began smiling, "I was wondering if you had the time to look over some candidates for me." "Candidates?"

"Fury's granted me permission to have my own team," Bobbi explained.

"Congratulations, I'm sure it will be a huge success."

"Well?" she pressed and George tried to focus again. He might have gotten slightly distracted by her smile. "Uh…I'm busy till the end of the week. After that I might be able to look into it. What sort of people do you need?" George asked, making a note in his schedule. Coulson always seemed to fill it up with lectures lately.

"It will be a small team. I need a mechanic, a biologist and at least two more field agents."

"No-one from the analyst branch?" George asked confused.

"All field agents have enough knowledge to get by."

"I know, but surely you want someone who is properly trained in that area," George argued.

"The team leader will be," Bobbi replied, George was now more confused.

"I assumed that you would be…"

"Team leader? No. Fury is choosing that candidate himself," Bobbi explained. "I'll be in charge of the tactical side."

"I see," George said. "How much free range did he give you on the rest of the team?"

"Level 4's and below. I'm a level 5, so if I'm supposed to be in charge, it helps if I have a higher rank. The researchers can be green, but I want experienced operatives." George nodded.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank-you," Bobbi said smiling as she stood up, George quickly mirrored her "And Sam, meet me in the training room at 8, I'll teach you how to block Clint's right hook."

"Seriously?" George asked, a little too hopefully.

"Yeah, there's nothing to it," Bobbi replied.

"Tell that to my chest," George whined as he rubbed the sore spot.

"See you later."

"Yeah. See you."

* * *

"I've had this room for two weeks and its already been taken over," George stated when he saw Bobbi

sat in his chair.

"You weren't here," she replied matter-of-factly. George frowned before handing her a de-caff. "You have too much caffeine," she said, as he sat on the sofa, drinking his coffee. When he didn't reply Bobbi stood and sat next to him. "You're not sleeping."

"I am," he replied, not sure whether to be happy Bobbi was close to him or not.

"Fine. You're not sleeping enough."

"I've got a lot of work," he explained, putting his empty cup in the bin and sitting in his now unoccupied chair.

"When was the last time you had a break?" she questioned.

"I have the weekends off."

"And you work at home. That pile has grown since Friday," Bobbi stated, pointing to his finished cases stack. George ignored her, spinning his chair to face the window. "I came for an update," Bobbi said, when she knew he wasn't willing to talk about anything personal. To be fair, she had only been spending time with him for two weeks, but it was difficult not to like him.

"I've made a list," George said. "Third file down." Bobbi sighed and picked it up before sitting back on the sofa.

"Johnson and Peters," she read. "They're not exactly elite…"

"They're reliable," George replied, still looking the other way.

"I'm looking for the best."

"Well, you can't have the best," George stated sternly, "because they're above level 4," he continued before turning around.

"Why are you so pissed off with me?" Bobbi said, annoyed by his tone.

"I'm giving you facts. If you want reliability and ability, then you will have to look higher." "Facts… is that what this is. You're not just annoyed by the fact I asked you a personal question?" "And what if I was?" George asked.

"Then I'd say you're being an idiot. Don't expect me not to say something when I can see there's a problem." "Jesus Christ… what is it with this place?"

"What?"

"SHIELD…, all you people do is ask me personal questions. You don't know me… you have no idea what's going on inside my head…"

"Hey!" Bobbi yelled, now really annoyed. "I came to you because I thought you could understand that I want to create something great here. I don't want a typical Academy built team. I want specialists and to get the job done. That's why I'm here. That's why SHIELD's here, and we can't get the job done when we're not at our best. That's why I asked you. That's why we ask you these things, because if you're not doing your job at your best then you're letting us down."

"I'm sorry," George replied quietly. "You're right."

"I am," Bobbi stated. George then opened his drawer and pulled out another file, handing it to Bobbi.

"This is the team I would choose," George said, before he left the room. He needed air and to see Coulson.

* * *

"You know, I have an office," Coulson said, walking onto the roof.

"I don't like your office," George replied and Coulson just nodded, he could tell the kid was in an odd mood. He went and sat beside him on the half-wall. "What's up?"

"I need you to lessen my work load," George said, which really did shock Coulson.

"Of course," Coulson replied. "Are you struggling? Because you haven't missed a deadline." "I'm working through the night," George explained and Coulson sighed.

"George, why didn't you say before?"

"Because… because I don't want to sleep and the work keeps me occupied," George said and saw Coulson's expression. "You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not," Phil admitted. "When we first met… properly met that is, you were awake every morning, you drank more coffee than water and you get more work done than humanly possible." George smiled at that last remark. "Clint guessed too."

"So did Bobbi," George replied.

"Is that why you've brought it up."

"Yeah. She said a few things, it hit home a little."

"What did she say?"

"She said if I wasn't at my best, I was failing SHIELD."

"George…"

"She's right. We made a deal. One day at a time I would try and do things right. To do better. If I keep this up, then I'm not doing my best… I'm making things worse."

"You aren't making things worse," Coulson insisted. "I'll lessen your workload and we'll go from there."

George nodded and Coulson wrapped an arm round his shoulder. "One day at a time kid. One day at a time."

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	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: Growing up**

"Is this a joke Agent Morse," Fury stated, reading the list of names.

"No Sir," Bobbi replied.

"This a collection of misfits."

"Sir. It's a collection of SHIELD's best. I agree they're quite individual, but as a team, I think we could be great."r

"Agent Mor…"

"Sir, with all due respect. What have you got to lose?" Fury looked annoyed about being interrupted but eventually agreed.

"Be it on your head agent. Gather the team and I'll inform Samuels." "Sir, I would prefer if I told him myself," Bobbi stated.

"Fine," he replied, dismissing her.

* * *

George felt Clint keep looking at him concerned every-time another car approached theirs. George couldn't help it, he tensed whenever something came their way.

"Not much further," Clint said. George didn't answer, he just tried to distract himself. It didn't work. "Kid, have a little faith. I'm not going to crash."

"I'm fine…, I just… don't like cars."

"I know kid. I'm going to teach you to drive one day, then you'll see it isn't that bad."

"No thanks. I'm fine with my bike."

"Suit yourself," Clint replied, before pulling up and parking the car. Coulson and Nat were already inside.

* * *

"One dance Nat," Clint begged. "Just one."

"I hate you, you know that?" she replied, putting her drink down and taking his hand as he led her to the dancefloor. George grinned at the spectacle as he downed another shot; the assassins could dance. Coulson was sat opposite, smiling as he drank his coke.

"If he steps on her foot, he'll regret it for a year," George observed, Coulson didn't miss the slight slur to his words.

"No more shots I think," Coulson said, moving the bottle towards him. George shrugged his shoulders, leaning back against the seat, closing his eyes. "Don't pass out."

"I'm just tired," George replied.

"You and me both kid," Coulson replied as he noticed Bobbi walk in. She sat next to George and kissed him on the cheek, making him open his eyes.

"Happy birthday."

"I didn't know you were coming," George said, happy to see her.

"Coulson invited me," she replied and George looked towards him.

"Not every-day you turn 21," Coulson replied. "I'll go get another round," he continued, letting them have some privacy.

"So, do you feel like an adult?" Bobbi asked.

"I'm not sure. I haven't been a child for a long time," George replied. Bobbi frowned at that comment. She rested her head against his shoulder, looking out towards the dance-floor.

"Is that…?"

"Barton and Romanoff. Yes, yes it is." Bobbi burst out laughing, the two of them had taken over. Clint was spinning Nat around the room and the band seemed to be playing just for them. "What did Fury say?" George asked. It had been a week since he gave her his list.

"He didn't understand the choices, but he gave me the go ahead."

"And has he picked your team leader yet?" George asked. Bobbi sat up and turned to face him.

"Yes."

"And?"

"He picked you." George shuffled in his seat and ran a hand other his eyes.

"I must be more drunk than I thought... He picked who?"

"You heard me. Fury wants you to run my team." George sat quiet for a moment before he glared at her.

"You knew, didn't you?" George said, hurt in his voice.

"Yes."

"That's why you asked me to choose the members."

"Sam, I wanted to make sure I could offer you the best. I wanted the team to be the best. I want you to run it." "And where was my say in this?" George said, standing.

"No one's forcing you, I thought this was what you wanted; to be a field agent," Bobbi replied.

"No one decides what I want," George finished angrily, before he made his way outside. Clint saw and stopped dancing, hurrying after the kid as Nat went back to the table.

"What happened?" she demanded, seeing Bobbi looking worried.

"You told him, I guess," Coulson said, returning.

"Yes, I did. I thought he would be happy," she replied. Coulson sighed, sitting down.

"He's worried about having people's life in his hands again. He doesn't trust himself after Riley."

"I didn't realise."

"It was 50/50, I don't think the alcohol helped." "I need to see him," Bobbi said, standing.

"Bobbi, I don't think that's…" Nat began but Bobbi had already walked out. Nat sighed. "Drive me home Coulson?" Phil nodded, there was nothing more they could do.

* * *

"Kid!" Clint called, chasing after George. "Sam!" George stumbled through the street, into the alleyway, tripping over. He didn't bother getting up, he just leant against the wall. "Sam," Clint said, finally catching up. Clint slid down the wall and sat beside him. "What the hell kid?"

"Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"I'm to be Bobbi's boss in a field team." Clint sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"You want to tell me what the real problem is, because that doesn't sound too bad."

"She didn't give me any warning."

"And what difference does that make. You either say yes or no."

"You don't understand," George said, standing and leaning against the wall.

"No," Clint stated, standing too. "You're just not explaining."

"I'm no-one's puppet!" George yelled. "She can't just decide things for me!" Clint was finally getting somewhere. "It's my life!"

"This isn't about Bobbi. This is about your past and you need to stop thinking like that."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I've been there," Clint said, grabbing his shoulder. "I've been down that path. I've killed on orders. I've murdered on command. I've… I got through it. Coulson, and Nat and…Laur…SHIELD got me through it… For god's sake kid, this is your chance to set your own terms, who cares if Bobbi sorted it out without your knowledge? You still get the final say." Clint then looked up to see Bobbi stood at the end of the corner, she had heard it all. Clint released George and walked off, he was going home.

"I'm sorry," Bobbi began. "I didn't realise." George shook his head; it wasn't her fault. He needed to grow up. "I'm in."

"What?"

"I'll do it," George said again. "But no more secrets." "No more secrets," Bobbi agreed.

* * *

"You ready?" Bobbi asked, as they stood inside the Quinjet. George nodded.

"Let's go meet our team," he replied. Bobbi and George then walked out of the plane and into The Hub's hangar. There were two people waiting for them by the entrance. George recognised them both and was grimacing at the thought of speaking to one of them.

"Agent Morse, it's good to see you again," Agent Hand said.

"You too Ma'am," Bobbi replied.

"Agent Samuels, we finally meet," Hand said, shaking George's hand. "I think you know Agent Sitwell." "We've met," George replied, glaring at the agent. "Except this time, I'm not chained to a table." Hand smirked a little; it seemed she didn't love Sitwell either.

"I'm glad that circumstances have changed," Jasper replied. George let a pretend smile grace his face. They did not shake hands.

"Your team has arrived; they're waiting for you," Hand said as she led them into the main hall. George looked up to see he was in a huge, circular shaped building.

"Impressive," he mumbled to Bobbi, causing her to smile.

"Agent Morse, your team is in the left wing, floor 5. This will be your base throughout your stay."

"Thank-you, Agent Hand," Bobbi replied, before they walked off to the elevators.

"I know all the names of the bases, well up to level 5 at least, and all the intel about them, but are they all... so…"

"Big? Modern? Fancy?" Bobbi asked.

"All of the above."

"Yes, they are."

"Cool… So, what did she mean by our base?"

"Field teams get their own area. Bunks, tech rooms, office and common room."

"Who gets the office?" he joked.

"You're the boss," Bobbi replied. "Come on," she continued, as they exited the lift and walked through to the common room. They opened the door and four people stood. "Meet the team."

"Bobbi," one man greeted, shaking her hand.

"Jake," she replied. "How's the arm?"

"Never better," he replied grinning. "Agent Wilton," he continued shaking George's hand. "Your sniper."

"Thanks for coming," George responded.

"Pleasure sir," Jake said, before he took a few steps back. The others didn't look as welcoming. George sighed before beginning his semi-prepared ramble.

"Ok, lets clear a few things up," George said, before he took a seat, facing the others. "I am the youngest person in this room and I am also supposed to be in charge. I understand that isn't going to sit well with all of you. Despite my age, I would expect none of you to trust me anyway; none of you know me. Trust is earned and I hope to gain it. Most of you know Agent Morse," he continued as Bobbi sat beside him. "She will be in charge of the tactical team… and I know each of your histories. So, right now you can ask me questions about mine, don't expect me to do this again though." The room was silent for a minute before two of the agents took a seat and the muscular man leaned against the wall. Jake remained standing to the side.

"Why are you here?" the big guy asked.

"Agent Mackenzie, right?" George began.

"Mack."

"Mack, I'm here because Agent Morse asked me to be. I also want to be in the field," George replied, he knew that didn't come out very well.

"I asked Fury for the best," Bobbi said. "Agent Samuels' name was put forward straight away."

"How are you the best with no field experience?" Mack asked sternly.

"Oh, he has field experience. Just not directly for SHIELD," Bobbi stated and George gave her a look.

"I was a mercenary before I was recruited to SHIELD two years ago." George explained.

"For who?" a young woman asked, she was 24.

"Agent Jane Casper?" George asked, making the woman nod. "When I was nine years old my uncle took me in and brought me up within Hamlet. If you haven't heard of it, it was an international arms dealership, specialising in African militant groups and founded in the UK. I became their pilot…, or delivery boy. I acted out all the transactions. That was until two years ago when Coulson took me down." That raised a few heads, even Bobbi hadn't heard the bit about his uncle and being nine years old.

"And the last two years?" Jake asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Initially, I was a level 3 analyst, then I was promoted to level 5." He could see Jane was about to ask him why, but Bobbi beat him to it.

"Sam was responsible for the discovery of the moles, Blakeman, Morton and the rest. Hence the promotion. For the few months, he has worked directly under Coulson, Hill and Fury, researching and assisting in missions involving myself, Hawkeye and Black Widow. He was also put in charge of sifting through the Academy for bad seeds, by Fury himself. He had planned the mission which took Hamlet down, he was also the architect behind getting himself captured by SHIELD; all to give us the information to take down his own organisation."

"That wasn't one of my best ideas," George mumbled to himself, ignoring the praise; he hated it.

"So? Any more questions?" Bobbi asked, satisfied by the shocked expressions.

"No," the final person said, standing from their seat. "I'm willing to try this out. James Porter," he continued and George stood and shook his hand.

"Agent Porter."

* * *

"I brought you a beer," Bobbi said, walking into George's new office.

"Thanks."

"I think it went well."

"Really?"

"Well, no one left," Bobbi teased. "What you looking at?"

"Our first mission," George replied, displaying it on the big screen.

"Well that looks fun…" Bobbi stated, reading one word. 'Russia'.

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	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: The team**

 **Rissalissa: Thanx for the review. Glad you did have a look. I know OC's aren't very popular anyway and also being on a crossover story means even less people read it so I appreciate the feedback!**

 **Samuels' team: (to help you follow the story, I introduced a few OC's last time).**

 **George Samuels – leader (like Coulson AoS)**

 **Bobbi Morse – Tactical leader (like May)**

 **Jake Wilton – Sniper**

 **Jane Casper – Tactical**

 **Mack – Mechanic (the same Mack from AoS) James Porter - Scientist (like Fitzsimmons)**

George stood at the head of the meeting room, addressing his new team.

"Satellite imaging has picked up an alarming spike in movement in the area. Heavy duty trucks are coming and going. The location is a former KGB base and Hand wants us to investigate. We move out in the hour to begin surveillance, get your gear."

"Sir," came a group response. George dismissed the team and went to get dressed. He had already packed his bag and went straight to the Quinjet to prepare it.

* * *

"This is 5.0.5 Bravo, requesting permission to take off," George stated into the head-set.

"Permission granted," the voice replied and George turned the engines to full, taking off. George could hear the occasional sentence being spoken but other than that it was a quiet few hours. His team did not know each other yet, they were just a collection of agents who had been prevented from rising any further due to their pasts.

"You need a co-pilot, Sir?" a voice called. George looked to see Agent Jane Casper take a seat beside him.

"I don't mind the company," he replied, not wanting to scare away an opportunity to get to know her.

"I gotta admit Sir, you have an impressive résumé."

"Is that a compliment Agent Casper?"

"Of course not Sir, you've read my file, I don't get along with superiors," she replied.

"Superiors is a debatable term," George commented. He had read her file and he had found that she had only disobeyed orders when the orders were bad ones.

"Is this your first time in the field with SHIELD?" she asked.

"No," George replied, not elaborating. He would not allow racking through his past to be a regular occurrence.

Jane got the hint and didn't ask the follow-up. "Besides, the plan is for Agent Morse to lead the tactical team.

My field time will be limited."

"Morse says you're good in a fight."

"Really, because she makes me feel crap every-time she kicks my ass," George mumbled as he looked at the navigation screen. "It's nearly time to land, tell everyone to strap in."

"Yes sir," she replied, getting up.

* * *

"Mockingbird in position," Bobbi stated, lying next to Jake on the roof-top. She was his spotter. Agent Wilton had his sniper rifle out in front of him.

"Copy that. Mack, you're up," George said over the coms and Mack started up the truck. They had knocked out the original driver and Mack took his place.

"Coming around," Mack said as he drove the truck around the corner beside the compound.

"I see you," Bobbi said as the truck came into sight. "Guards looking steady."

Bobbi watched as Mack drove up to the guard tower and handed over his I.D at the gate.

"Mack's getting out of the car and walking to the back," Bobbi said over the comms. "Jake get ready," she told the sniper. He would take out the guard in the tower at the same time as Mack took down the guard below.

"Your call Mockingbird," George said over the comms.

"On my count. Three," Bobbi began, "Two…One." Jake fired the shot and Mack knocked the guard out, dragging him back into the tower. "Phase one complete."

"Begin phase two," George notified as he walked out of the Quinjet and watched Agent Jane Casper drive off. Bobbi hurried down the ladder of the building and then jumped into Jane's truck when it passed. When she got to the gate she jumped out and Jane blocked the exit gate with her vehicle. Mack hacked into the security. "How we looking?"

"No activity detected," Jake responded, he remained on the roof.

"Roads still clear," Agent Porter replied, he was monitoring the video feed from the surrounding area.

"Mack?" George asked as Bobbi and Jane ran to the side door of the warehouse.

"One sec…ok, I'm in. Access point open," Mack replied, before he too ran to the side-door. If he was needed back at the gate, then agents Porter or Wilton would tell him.

"We're going in," Bobbi informed, "radio silence."

"Copy that."

The three agents entered the warehouse and were met with a labyrinth of crates. Bobbi made the signal and the three agents split up, taking down the guards one by one as quietly as they could.

"We've got a guard exiting the building," Jake said, "he's seen the trucks and is going to investigate." "If he touches his radio, take him out," George replied, they weren't taking any chances.

"Copy that." It was a couple seconds later when George heard the bullet fire. "Threat neutralised."

"Sir, we've got incoming," Porter suddenly stated and George ran back into the Quinjet to look at the video feed. There was a train of vehicles approaching.

"Mockingbird, do you copy?" George called. Silence. "Porter, strap yourself in," George yelled as he ran into the pilot seat and got the Quinjet ready to fly. "Mockingbird, you hear me yet? You've got incoming." Still silence.

"They've stopped in front of the trucks sir," Jake said. "Guards are going out to investigate."

"This…this…is Mocking…" Bobbi voiced called over the comms, it was getting clearer. "This is Mockingbird, package proven lethal, charges set. We need to blow it all."

"Copy that, proceed to evac," George replied as he pulled the Quinjet into the air. "Hold on Porter, this could get bumpy," he continued, flying the Quinjet through the woodland track, hitting some of the branches. When he reached the compound fence, he fired, blowing a hole through it. A truck smashed out of one of garages and the three agents drove through the hole, into the forest.

"All agents clear, ready when you are," Bobbi called.

"They've cleared the trucks and are hurrying to the fence. Fire now," Jake stated and Bobbi pressed the switch causing the building to explode. "Boo yah!"

"Agent Wilton, you're clear to return," George said.

"Copy that Sir, on my way," Jake said as he hurried down the ladder and took off through the streets. "All packages on board," Bobbi stated when Jake arrived and found a seat. George then took to the skies once more and headed back to base. When he was sure they were out of harm's way, George placed the Quinjet on autopilot and walked to the back.

"What was inside?" he asked.

"Biological weapons, too dangerous to remain," Bobbi replied. George nodded, they had gone through what they would do depending on what they found inside.

"Do we know precisely what?" Porter asked.

"We brought you a sample," Jane said, pulling out one of the vials and handing them to the scientist.

"We also got the hard-drive of the only laptop in the office," Mack said laying it on the desk.

"Ok, when we get back to the Hub I want Mack to make a copy of the hard-drive and Porter I want to know everything about that substance. It was a good job, well done," George finished, dismissing them.

The team found their seats but Bobbi remained beside George.

"How many guards were there inside?" George asked.

"About 10," she replied.

"And?"

"We dealt with them…somewhat efficiently."

"You know how to deal with that?"

"I've already thought through a few training exercises. Leave it to me."

"That's the deal, wasn't it?"

"For now," she said, grinning as she walked to the co-pilot chair. George grabbed a bottle of water before joining her. "Nice job by the way," she commented. George had planned and prepared it all. The mission had run smoothly, but she knew he had made about 5 back-up plans just in case. He was the right guy for the job, she knew it.

* * *

5 months later and the team were yet to have an unsuccessful mission.

George walked into the common room and was instantly accosted by Agent Porter, who had a new bit of research to show him. George listened as he walked up to the kitchen cabinet, but he didn't really understand any of it. Him and science didn't really mix.

"What is it you want Porter?" George questioned, knowing there must be something.

"Well…sir, I noticed we weren't on a mission currently," Porter replied.

"How astute of you," George mumbled, causing Jane to smile in the corner, as she read a book.

"Sir, I was wondering if I could work in the Hub's central lab for a time, our equipment is slightly lacking." "You want my permission to walk next door?" George asked confused.

"I'm not allowed access in the lab without it."

"Right. Well Agent Porter, tell me where Agent Morse hid the coffee and I'll give you the permission."

"Sir? That's hardly fair," Porter protested. "Bobbi will have my head."

"Wilton?" George called. "Are you willing to tell me." "Wouldn't dare sir," Jake replied, also smiling.

"Do I have any authority here?" George asked annoyed.

"Nope," Jane said bluntly. George sighed.

"You have my permission Porter; I'll send a message to Hand in a minute."

"Thank-you Sir," the agent replied, before taking off to get his things. George grabbed a water bottle instead and went to sit on the sofa. He pulled out his phone and sent the email to Hand. Afterwards he leaned his head back and almost instantly his eyes closed as he allowed himself to relax. It wasn't long before he found himself falling asleep.

"…do you think its fine…you seen him fight? …he's our…back-up and …stays behind a desk…if it went wrong…" George pretended to still be sleeping as he heard the muffled words. Mack had entered the room and was talking about him. It seemed he had almost won every-one's trust but his. Once he had heard Mack's problem, however, George opened his eyes and stood, making Mack freeze. Jane leant back in her chair watching and Jake averted his eyes.

"Have something to say Agent?" George asked.

"No Sir," Mack replied.

"Well, I think you do," George continued.

"It's been five months Sir and in every mission, you are in charge of the back-up."

"You don't think I'm up to it?"

"You're an analyst Sir, Bobbi is the fighter," Mack argued.

"And you're a shit-stirrer Agent Mackenzie," George shouted. "Next time you have a problem you say it to my face. Am I clear?" Silence. "I said, am I clear?"

"Sir," Mack answered, but there was little respect in it. George would not give him the satisfaction of fighting him. If Mack thought he couldn't handle it, then so be it till fate proved him otherwise. That was…unless…unless he couldn't handle it. George left the room and went into his office. What if he failed them? He grabbed his knife set and began throwing them across the room, towards the target. Dead centre; every time.

* * *

"Agent Samuels," someone called and George turned around to see agent Hand calling him. He stopped and let her catch up.

"What can I do for you Agent Hand?" he asked.

"Agent Mackenzie has requested a transfer from your team." "I am aware," George replied.

"Well, I'm afraid he will have to wait. Director Fury has asked for you specifically for a mission."

"Send me the details and I'll have my team prepare."

"You misunderstand me. Fury asked for you alone."

"Agent Hand, I would appreciate it if you would be less vague."

"Agents Barton and Romanoff are arriving within the hour. They will tell you everything, prepare your gear and a Quinjet," she stated before hurrying off.

"Shit," George said as he took off towards his team's base. "Bobbi!" he called, as he ran into his room and started packing his gear.

"What is it?" she asked, running in. "Where are we going?"

"It's just me," he replied. "Barton and Romanoff are on their way, Fury's sending us on a mission. You're in charge here."

"What are you talking about? Your place is with us, why are you being sent off?"

"Hand didn't have any answers. Explain this to the team and I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Sam!" she yelled as he walked out of his room, bag in tow. He turned around and was hit as she enveloped him in a hug. "Stay safe."

"Yeah, I will," he replied, hugging her back. Mack had walked out one of the rooms and George couldn't help but say something. "Wait till I get back before you make your decision. If you're not satisfied that I can beat your ass in a fight, then fair enough." George didn't wait for the reply and took off.

* * *

George had everything prepared on board when another Quinjet landed. Barton and Romanoff hurried out and boarded his. They obviously couldn't spare the time to refuel. Barton gave him a quick hug and Nat kissed his cheek before they all moved on to business.

"She ready?" Clint asked, George didn't miss his worried expression.

"All set," George replied and he jumped into the co-pilot's chair. Clint quickly had the plane up in the air and off. Once it was flying at a constant speed, George couldn't wait anymore. "What the hell is going on?" "Hand didn't tell you?" Nat asked, standing between the two pilots.

"No."

"It's Coulson," Clint stated. "He's been taken, and we're getting him back."

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	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: Saving Coulson**

George stood in silence at the back of the Quinjet, strapping his knives to his gear. He tried to ignore the way his hand was shaking. Coulson; taken. Those words should not be next to each other. The first person he actually trusted, the person who gave him this life, this fresh start. George looked over to see Barton was dealing with it in his own way; flying the plane. George wished he could do that, flying always helped, but Clint needed it just as much as he did. Clint Barton and George Samuels, both brought in by Agent Phil Coulson.

"Hey," Nat suddenly said beside him. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," George replied but Nat grabbed his wrist, eyeing his shaking hand. George clenched his fist to try and hide it.

"Oh yeah?" Nat asked. George pulled his wrist loose from her grip. "Are you ready for this?" George stood still for a moment.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, leaving no room for questions. "You're not going to stop me," he said determined. Nat smiled slightly and left him be. He looked down to see his hand had stopped shaking. "Damn Widow," he mumbled to himself.

* * *

"I don't like this plan," Clint stated over the comms as he watched George walk into the ballroom from the opposite street.

"It's the best one we've got. If they recognised Coulson, they could recognise you," George replied, taking a drink from a waiter. "Widow in position?"

"You bet flyboy," she stated, walking through the back exit towards the bathrooms, it was too risky for her to be in the main ballroom as well.

"Who are you?" someone suddenly asked George. He looked around to see a gorgeous woman, dressed in a red dress.

"Samuel Blakely," George replied, shaking her hand.

"Funny, I don't remember seeing you on the list."

"I'm a friend of Jacques Renàrd," George replied.

"A friend; really?"

"Well…I beat him at cards a few nights ago, he was quite remiss to lose his Jag, so I suggested I come to this event in his stead."

"Do you gamble often, Mr Blakely?" she inquired.

"When it suits me," he said, placing his glass on a passing waiter's tray. "For example, I'm willing to ask you to dance." She smiled and placed her hand in his.

"I believe the greater risk will be living up to my expectations," she said. George smiled back, spinning her into the centre. He could use this opportunity to scout out the room. He had been quite surprised when the host's daughter had approached him, but it seemed to be going well.

"Nice save kid," Clint said in his ear. George didn't miss the slight worry in Hawkeye's tone. George continued to dance with the girl, gaining admirers. Growing up as part of a rich aristocratic smuggling organisation taught you how to dance.

"Do you see Rossetti?" Nat asked, getting tired of waiting. George looked again and finally spotted the host.

"Do you want to get a drink?" George said to the girl, indicating to the others where Rossetti was.

"Tired already?" she asked, letting him lead her to the bar.

"It's a long evening. Plenty of time for dancing."

"You still haven't asked my name," she stated as George got them drinks.

"Your name is Elena Rossetti," George said and she smiled. "You think I would go to a party without knowing the host."

"My father is the host," she corrected.

"Not really my type," George teased. He saw Marco Rossetti look over at them, seeing his daughter with him. It didn't take long before the father came and investigated.

"Elena," he said, kissing his daughter's cheek, "who is your dance partner?" "Samuel Blakely," George said, holding out his hand, Marco did not shake it.

"How long have you been in Rome, Mr Blakely?" Marco asked.

"A few days, I'm here for the sights. I was in Florence last week."

"Will you be staying long?"

"Papa!" Elena scolded at his rudeness.

"I am yet to be asked to stay," George replied, smiling at the daughter. Marco did not like that answer. The man frowned before ordering a whiskey. "Make that two," George stated, downing his previous drink. Marco frowned but allowed it to happen. When they both had their drinks, Marco invited them to join him on the balcony, where there was a private seating area. George agreed, pouring the whiskey into the plant pot on the way. He needed to appear drunk, not be drunk.

Ten minutes later and George was laughing hysterically and smoking a cigar with one of the henchmen. Marco was sat near him, speaking in hushed tones.

"Your drink sir," a waiter stated and George took the glass and sipped it. He wouldn't be able to hide it this time, but thankfully the moment to act had come. Marco was standing up so George continued his hysterics act, making garish arm movements with the drink in his hand. His hand knocked Marco and half the drink was spilt on his shirt.

"Oh dear," he said. "I am so sorry, please forgive me," George said, slurring his words.

"No harm done," Marco nearly spat out and the man left quickly in the direction of the bathrooms, sending one man off to get a new shirt.

"He's coming to you Widow," George stated, before having a little more of the drink as he followed the guards. George walked through the side-door, turning to lock it afterwards. A second later he heard the fight begin and he walked slowly towards the noise to join in. By the time he got there, one of the henchmen was left standing. George picked up the vase beside him and smashed it onto the guy's head when he was distracted by Nat. They both then quickly pulled the bodies behind the pillars and Nat opened the back-door, whilst George carried Marco into the waiting van.

"Samuel?" a voice called from behind.

"Shit," George stated, hurrying back inside.

"Catch up," Nat said, jumping into the van and closing the door. Clint then drove off.

"Elena, I was just in the bathroom," he said, walking up to her. For some reason, he felt a little dizzy.

"Do you know where my father went?" she asked.

"He…he was getting a…a shirt," George replied, words slurring. Elena walked up to him and held his face in her hands.

"You're lying, Agent," she said, kissing him. George almost collapsed in her arms.

"…I…I…"

"Shhh…go to sleep," she soothed. He felt his legs go weak, but suddenly he was held up by harsh grips. He couldn't help it, his eyelids just drooped. "Go to sleep."

"Sam!" Clint yelled, hearing Elena's words. "Shit! She drugged him!"

"He'll be alright Clint, we have to keep moving," Nat replied. Clint swore, punching the door, before he hit the accelerator, the plan would continue.

* * *

George felt his arms being pulled out of his sockets when he woke up. He opened his eyes and realised he was dangling from the ceiling, hands tied above him, shirt removed. George moaned; his arms really hurt. "So, you're awake," a voice called. A voice he would recognise anywhere. George turned his head to see Coulson tied to the wall, in the corner.

"Hey Coulson," George said, grimacing at the look on Coulson's face. The look of disappointment and concern.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Phil replied in a tone worse than anger.

"Rescuing you," George replied, causing Phil to scoff. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours," Coulson said, "comfortable?" George grimaced.

"Not really. Where are our hosts?"

"I'm not sure. They said you took Marco." George confirmed.

"We needed to find you."

"Not a great plan," Coulson replied, motioning to George.

"How'd they get you?"

"I got outnumbered kid, it happens," Coulson replied.

"And since?" George asked, worrying about the fact they might have tortured Coulson.

"Nothing I can't handle." George however still looked Coulson over to be sure. He didn't like the fact Coulson's leg looked crooked.

* * *

"You are going to die, Black Widow," Marco spat, tied to a chair in the centre of the room.

"Eventually, but for now I'm going to make a phone call," she replied, taking Marco's mobile. "Let's see if your daughter is awake."

"This is Elena," the daughter said, picking up the phone.

"You have two of mine and I have your father. I suggest a trade," Nat began.

"I want proof he's alive," Elena replied.

"Mine first." Widow heard a sigh but then a door open.

"Your friend wants to know if you're still breathing," Elena stated.

"I'm still kicking," George said, Nat didn't miss the slight breathlessness.

"Coulson?" she asked.

"We're both here," George replied.

"There you go, now my father," Elena stated.

"Speak," Nat said, holding the phone near Marco.

"Elena, kill them," Marco stated.

"Kill them and I kill him," Nat warned. "We will text you a time and place," Nat finished, hanging up. "Clint?" "I've got their location, let's go," Hawkeye replied. Nat then pulled out her gun and fired, killing Marco before he could protest. No one gets away with hurting family.

* * *

"What's wrong Elena, not used to making the decisions yourself?" George asked, killing time. One of the men punched him in the gut.

"Get away from him!" Coulson yelled as George gasped, winded. Elena only smiled at him, before walking up to George.

"You're young to be trusted with such a mission," Elena said, running a finger along his jaw. George turned his head away, his Uncle used to do that. It was a possessive gesture and he hated it. What he hated more was what she did next. She walked around so she was behind him, and George froze. "What's your real name?" George didn't respond. He was defenceless and blind to what was happening. Coulson saw the shift and tried to get Elena's attention, only to fail. "And what is this?" Elena asked, running a hand up his scar. George flinched, jerking in his restraints. "It looks old, …painful," she said. He couldn't do this; he couldn't be here. He was full out panicking, making his hands bleed from the thrashing. He seemed to forget to breath and when her hand left his back for a moment, he gasped for air.

"Kid, look at me," Phil called. George however was staring dead ahead, trying to calm himself. "Kid."

"You don't see a scar like that every day," Elena said, walking back in front, hand returning to his skin. George however felt no relief when she returned to view, the memories were already brought back. Elena remained still for a few minutes, just watching George's reaction and grinning. The more she stood there, the further away he seemed to venture.

"Get away from him!" Coulson shouted, when he was getting extremely concerned. Elena smiled once more at Phil, before turning to leave.

Instead of the door being opened for her, however, it suddenly blew and smashed into the woman, killing her instantly. The three henchmen were soon taken care of by either a bullet or arrow. Clint stormed in and spotted both Coulson and 'Sam'. He ran over to the kid and rested his hands under George's boot, pushing upwards. Clint felt George put some weight on it to ease his arms and wrists, but not nearly enough.

"Coulson, what's your status?" Clint asked as he focused on helping George down, whilst Nat lowered the ropes.

"Through and through to the leg, a few bruised ribs," Coulson responded instantly before his voice grew worried. "Clint, we need to get him out of here." Hawkeye grew concerned instantly, he couldn't see any wounds, but George wasn't speaking, he seemed distant.

Clint held George as his feet hit the ground, but didn't hold his weight. Clint held him upright as he cut through the rope around his wrists.

"Hey Sam, look at me kid," Clint said, noticing the kid's distant look. "Sam?" he asked, shaking the kid's shoulders in his grasp.

"What?" George responded after a while, coming slightly back into awareness.

"Hey…eyes on mine," Clint ordered, grabbing George's face in one hand. George had been looking somewhere off into the distance, but his gaze fluttered back to Clint.

"I didn't do it," George mumbled.

"Didn't do what kid?"

"Clint," Nat called, untying Coulson. "We need to go."

"One second," he replied, before shaking the kid again, regaining his attention. "Sam. You're going to follow me ok. You stay next to me and we get out of here."

"Ok," George whispered. Clint then took off his jacket and handed it to George.

"Put that on," Clint ordered, before he went over to Coulson and pulled him up. "You and me need to have words," Clint warned.

"Good to see you too Barton," Coulson replied, biting back the scream as they took a step. His leg wound hurt so much and Clint didn't miss Coulson's reaction.

"This is going to hurt," Clint warned, before he quickly lifted Phil into a fireman's lift. Coulson couldn't help it; a cry came out. Clint then walked over to George and pulled out of his knives, placing it in the kid's grip.

"Let's go."

Nat led the way, firing mercilessly at anyone who came out from behind the corners. Luckily it wasn't a well-guarded place, and Nat and Clint had dealt with the worst during their entrance. Suddenly, two guards came out at once, both aiming for Nat. She only had time to fire at one, ready to feel the bullets from the other, but they didn't come. A knife was wedged deep into the other guard's heart. Nat gave George a nod of thanks before they all ran out into the courtyard.

"Get in," Nat yelled, and Clint quickly laid Coulson down in the back of the van before jumping in. George then followed him whilst Nat took the wheel. Clint didn't miss the fact the kid went straight to the corner, back pressed against the side. Barton couldn't deal with that now, he needed to focus on Coulson. He grabbed the med-kit and untied the meagre bandage tied around Coulson's leg. When he saw the wound he quickly grabbed the pain killers and injected Coulson without warning. Phil grimaced as it happened and when Clint touched his leg. It was a nasty wound, one that the Rossetti's liked to use to torture him.

"Sam, can you hand me the tape," Clint said, holding the new bandage in place. "Sam!" he shouted and the kid once again snapped out of his daze. He was about to ask the kid to tape the bandage but Clint saw the shake in his hands. "Hold the bandage for me," Clint said, taking the tape himself. George nodded, doing as he was told. "Keep it tight," Clint continued, keeping Sam focused. What the hell did she do to him? "You good Phil?"

"I'm fine," Coulson replied, resting his head on the floor, he just needed to breathe through the pain and let the pain killers take effect.

Satisfied Coulson was ok, Clint's attention turned to George, who was staring at the blood on his hands; Coulson's blood, mixed with his own. Clint picked up one of the needles, wipes and bandages before going to sit next to the kid.

"Give me your wrist," Clint instructed and George did as he was told. Clint quickly bandaged it, then did the other. After that he grabbed the needle and George just stared at it. "I need to check out what she drugged you with."

"It just knocked me out, I'm fine," George replied, scooting away.

"Then look at me," Clint said, George's gaze flickered towards him for a moment then returned to staring into the distance. Clint shuffled so he was in front of Sam, and gripped his head with one hand. "You with me kid?

What do you see?" Clint asked, concerned as George's eyes seemed to glaze over.

"I didn't do it," George said again.

"Ok, I got it," Clint replied, playing along, "what didn't you do?"

"I swear, I didn't do it…please…," George whispered. "Don't…" "Sam," Clint warned as the kid went too far into the memories.

"George," Coulson called.

"I didn't do it…I didn't do it…I didn't…"

"Sam!" Clint yelled this time and George's pupils widened considerable.

"Barton?" George gasped out when he came back. He couldn't control his breathing, it all seemed so real. He was having a panic attack.

"It's me kid," Clint replied, pulling George's head to rest against his shoulder, "just breathe kid, nice and slowly."

"Where…where's Coulson?" George questioned, through his breaths.

"Right here. I'm ok kid," Phil replied. He felt helpless just lying there, but he was not able to move. The van then came to a stop and Nat opened the back door. They were in the same field they had left their Quinjet, but now there were two. Fury stood in front of the second, with a med-team behind him. No-one commented on the spectacle of Hawkeye holding a shaking Agent Samuels. As medics, they had seen agents at their worsts before.

Nat just led them to Coulson and they got him onto a gurney.

"You good Phil?" Fury asked, leaning over his right-hand man.

"Yes sir, nothing I can't handle," Coulson replied. Fury nodded but placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "What going on here Phil?" Coulson could see the med-team lingering a few metres away, just waiting to step in, but Fury needed to know why one of his agents who seemed unharmed was having a panic attack.

"They barely touched him, just how they did it triggered memories. Something about his scar, he's never told me the story behind it."

"Next step?"

"Give him some time, he needs breathing room, not responsibility over his team." Fury accepted Coulson's advice, the man knew the kid best. Allowing the med-team to see to Phil, Fury walked up to Agent Romanoff, standing beside the van. Barton looked up from behind George, seeing the director.

"I'll need someone to debrief," Fury stated, letting the option of space be there for the other two. Clint and Nat exchanged a glance and they seemed to make an agreement.

"I'll come," Nat replied.

"Agent Barton?" Fury asked.

"I'll be at the farm," Clint said. Fury was shocked, but Nat wasn't. They had obviously discussed this before.

"Are you sure?" Fury questioned.

"Yes Sir," Clint replied, keeping a firm hold on the kid. The shaking was still there, but his breathing had calmed down.

"Very well, let me know when you're coming back." Clint nodded and after a while everyone left, leaving the two of them. Clint moved his hand from the back of George's head to his shoulder, slowly pushing him back.

"You alright?"

"That…that hasn't happened before…," George said quietly. "Not like that…"

"Something got you pretty spooked huh."

"It was nothing…"

"No. It wasn't. Don't play this down. That panic attack you just had, I've had that before. It doesn't come along from just nothing."

"I'm sorry," George said.

"Yeah, you always are kid. That's your problem," Clint replied. "Now come on, we both need some down time."

 **Hi guys, please REVIEW and let me know what you think. I appreciate the follows and favourites**


	13. Chapter 13

**Let's say Cooper Barton was 10 in Avengers 2 (2015), therefore this is before Iron Man (2008), so I'm going to write it so Cooper is about 6 and Lila is 2 ish, as I know the gaps between the movies aren't as long as the gaps between the stories or the other way around. Whatever it's my story and an AU anyway.**

"Sam, wake-up kid," Clint said, as he walked over to the him. "We're here." "Where's here?" George asked, unbuckling his straps.

"Home," Clint replied, opening the back door. George followed Clint as they walked out onto a field. There was a white farm house in front of him, and a barn with a broken roof. By the gate stood a woman with long brown hair, smiling at them. George could only watch, confused as Clint strode up to her and kissed her, before holding her in his arms in a hug.

"Honey," the woman said. "I think you owe Sam here an explanation." Clint grinned.

"Probably," he smirked, facing George again, with his arms wrapped around the woman. George was just struck dumb staring. "Sam, I want you to meet my wife; Laura."

"I…you…you're what…?" George stuttered. Laura smiled and walked over to him.

"It's nice to meet you Sam," she said before pulling the shocked youth into a hug. George just returned it, too lost to know what else to do. "Thank-you for saving my husband's life."

"…Pleasure," George stumbled out, not knowing what to say. Her hug was so warm and comforting, yet she was a stranger. Clint was still grinning and patted his shoulder, whilst Laura took his hand and led him towards the house.

"There's a little more," Clint stated to the shocked kid. George just went where he was told, whilst trying to figure out everything that was happening. Laura opened the door and the three of them walked into the house, before turning right into a lounge.

"Daddy!" a little boy cried, running into Clint's arms only to be thrown up into the air and tickled by the assassin. If George didn't know him better, he would think this was the only time he had seen Clint be affectionate, but he knew the archer was full of fluff.

"How's my little troubled maker?" Clint teased, continuing to tickle him. "Hey!? Little monster!" The boy only giggled, squirming in his father's arms. "Hey Cooper, I want you to meet someone," Clint whispered to the boy, turning to face George. "This is Sam." Cooper looked at the stranger and his face lit up.

"Uncle Sam?" Cooper asked and Clint nodded. "Uncle Sam!" the boy squealed, reaching for George. Clint helped Cooper make the distance and George suddenly found himself hugging a six-year-old in his arms. He gave Clint a 'what the hell look' but the man only shrugged, backing off, so George was stuck with the kid.

"Hey Cooper," George said, not knowing what else to do. "What have you done today?"

"Me and Mom wrote my letter to Santa," the boy said proudly. "It's over there!" he cried, pointing to a table. Clint gave George a little push, encouraging him to walk over and pick up the letter. "Read it!" the boy squealed, whilst Clint walked over to Laura who had just come back in. George was struck dumb once again when he saw that in Laura's arms was a little girl, about a year old. George just stared at the three of them, standing there, looking so happy. "Uncle Sam!" the boy whined, reaching for the letter. "You have to read it." George smiled at the tantrum, it reminded him of how Clint acted sometimes.

"You want a bike," George grinned. "You can't ride a bike," he teased.

"Can too!"

"Oh really…"

"Yeah! Daddy can't. He fell over." George couldn't help but snort, looking over at Hawkeye. Clint was hanging his head in shame.

"It was one time," he whined, snuggling into Laura. She swatted him away.

"Showers, both of you," she ordered. Clint smiled and took Cooper out of George's arms. He gave the kid a kiss before sending him towards his mother.

"This way," Clint motioned to the stairs. Clint then walked along the landing towards the guest room, only to stop when he noticed George wasn't behind him. George was standing in front of the first bedroom; Cooper's, looking in on the blue and red room, toys filling the floor. George didn't know Clint had walked back to him, before a hand was on his shoulder.

"You have a family," George stated, looking at the archer.

"Yeah kid, I've got a family."

"That's…"

"Crazy, stupid, ridiculous…"

"No," George interrupted. "It's great Clint…, it's really great. Your daughter, what's her name?"

"Lila," Clint replied. "Lila and Cooper, that's it. Honest." George smiled, he couldn't deal with any more surprises. "Fury let me keep this side of my life private when I joined. It's not on SHIELD records, it's just Fury, Coulson, Nat and you, who know."

"Clint…you shouldn't have…this is your…this is your home. I shouldn't be here."

"Hey," Clint stated, "you're family now kid. My home is your home." This didn't get the response that Clint hoped for however.

"That means the world, …but I don't know how to be part of a family." George said quietly. Clint pulled the kid into a hug.

"You think I did? No. Laura taught me, and now we're going to teach you. Uncle Sam." George chuckled.

"You told your kids you're in the army or something?" Clint frowned and shook his head.

"No. You're Uncle Sam because you're my little brother kid. I got your back." George stared in shock, but only saw truth behind his words.

"I got your back too," George replied.

"Good," Clint said before grabbing a towel and shoving it at George. "Now scoot, there's only enough pressure for one at a time." George did as he was told, no doubt Clint had hurried him away as the archer had seen the tears building in his eyes. He had a home. He had a family.

…

"Ok, now just raise the clutch slowly," Laura instructed. George tried but the truck just stalled completely; again. She smiled at him and gave him a pat on his shoulder. "I think you need a bike for here." "Yeah," George sighed, turning off the car and jumping out. "You had more patience than Clint," George continued, thinking about Clint's teaching yesterday. That had not gone well.

"Sam!" Clint called, coming out of the house, Cooper beside him. "I just had Nat on the phone. She wants you to give Bobbi a call, the woman's not happy." Clint passed the phone over to George, whilst Laura shook her head at Clint; George just couldn't deal with a car.

"Bob?" George said, when he heard her pick up.

"Sam! Where the hell are you?!" she shouted. "I've been worried sick."

"I'm fine Bobbi. I just needed a few days."

"Sam, this is the first time I've ever heard of you taking a break... What happened?" she asked, concerned.

"Something brought up a few memories, but its ok. I'm working through it."

"When are you back?" Bobbi asked, knowing she couldn't ask the details over the phone.

"Soon. I'm not sure exactly. I'll call you."

"You better. I miss you."

"I miss you too Bob. Stay safe."

"Yeah," she replied, hanging up. George sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair, before walking back inside.

"Thanks," George said, handing the phone back to Clint.

"So," Clint began, "you and Bobbi. You still have a thing?" Sam laughed.

"When did we ever?"

"I'm pretty sure you were drooling the first time you saw her." "I think Hawkeye's going blind," George argued.

"So, no?"

"No," George confirmed. "She's my friend. I like it that way."

"Fair enough."

…

It was another couple of days before Clint was happy George was in a fit state to go back. Plus, he was scared Bobbi would kill him if he didn't deliver her partner back sometime soon.

"Take care of yourself," Laura said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "And him," she continued, motioning to her husband. George nodded, he wouldn't let the Barton family down; his family down. He then stroked his hand through little Lila's hair before crouching down in front of Cooper.

"Uncle Sam, why are you going?"

"I've got to go work Coop," George replied.

"Like Daddy?"

"Yeah, like your daddy." Cooper looked sad and snuggled into George's chest. "I'll miss you Uncle Sam." "I'll miss you too Coop," George said before making his exit, a few moments later Clint came out too and they walked in silence to the Quinjet, neither mentioning their water-filled eyes.

…

George landed the Quinjet at the Hub, having dropped Clint off at the Triskellion a few hours before. He saw Bobbi stood by the door, waiting rather impatiently. When he walked out of the plane, she came over and slapped him.

"Ow…" he whined.

"Next time you go somewhere you tell me where!" she said, before hugging him tightly.

"Yes Ma'am," he replied, rubbing his cheek when she let go.

"You're telling me everything, you don't just disappear for no reason after a mission. Something happened and I need to know."

"Later Bobbi," he said, walking into the main hall. His cheek really hurt, but it was good to see her.

"Agent Samuels," Sitwell stated.

"Sitwell," George groaned.

"Enjoy your holiday agent? You'll find SHIELD don't appreciate unscheduled absences."

"It's a good thing Director Fury gave me his blessing," George replied, making Sitwell look shocked.

"Agent Hand's sent over files to you, I suggest you get back to work."

"Like I was trying to do, agent," George finished, walking towards their team's base. "Is he ever not going to be an asshole?"

"No," Bobbi remarked, following George through the door.

"Boss!" Jake called, from behind the kitchen counter.

"Agent Wilton," George greeted.

"It's good to have you back sir," Agent Casper said, from her usual chair.

"Sir," Agent Porter greeted. Mack remained silent by the door.

"Agent Mackenzie," George stated, "best of three?"

"Yes sir," Mack replied, and they both went to get ready. George won in two. Mack was strong, but he was faster.

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	14. Chapter 14

**_Quick filler chapter, sorry for the wait_**

 _Four months later_

"Sir," Mack said, as he handed over the beer.

"Thanks," George replied, squinting up at the man. The sun was shining in his eyes.

"You really should have sunglasses on," Porter pointed out, causing Mack to laugh as he took his seat. Porter always knew how to piss George off.

"You can get them off Bobbi for me, if you wish Porter," George said, knowing the man wouldn't dare.

"Where is she anyway?" Jake asked.

"Last I saw her she was being chatted up by a British Special Forces guy, on the pier."

"You jealous Jake?" Jane teased. The whole team watched Jake stumble, trying to get out of the trap. They all knew he was in love with Jane, and she knew too.

"Of course not," he stated, flustered. George chuckled, standing up. He needed a walk. When he was a few meters away his phone beeped. He pulled it out and watched the video clip. It was Cooper Barton on his red bike, being chased by the toddler Lila. George smiled at it as he walked along the sand. The team were splitting up for a while, or perhaps indefinitely. They deserved a break from the action. They had only had a few weekends off which George either spent with Bobbi or at the Farm. They had worked with each other for nine months. It was time for them to go their separate ways. They had started as a group of SHIELD misfits, now they were one of the best teams in the whole organisation. Each member had been asked to join other parts of the system and it was time they got to enjoy their new opportunities.

He wandered for quite a while before he finished his drink and headed to the bar. George noticed there was a crowd gathered around the TV. He pushed forward to see what was happening.

"Tony Stark has been taken captive by a group, calling themselves the Ten Rings," a reporter was stating. "This terrorist organisation has been involved in destroying villages for the last few months. Amongst the images

Stark weaponry can be spotted…"

"Sam," a voice suddenly said beside him. He turned to see Bobbi, the guy she was with kept his distance. "It's Coulson," she continued, holding out her phone. He took it, not asking any questions, her expression was clear enough.

"Sam here," he greeted, as Bobbi went back to her new friend, walking back onto the beach.

"We need you at the Triskellion," Coulson stated. "Get back as soon as you can." "Stark?" George asked.

"Yes. Your team has officially been disbanded."

"Understood Coulson," George finished, hanging up. He went over to Bobbi and handed her back the phone. "Am I missing something?" the guy asked, looking at their expressions. Bobbi just shook her head, smiling once again. "I'm Hunter, by the way," the guy said, shaking George's hand.

"Sam," George replied.

"Weird," Hunter remarked and George gave him a questioning glance. "You sound British, but your sister sounds American."

"Sam went to school in England," Bobbi explained.

"Let me guess Eton," Hunter teased.

"Harrow," George corrected, going along with the lie. "Bobbi can I talk to you for a sec?" "Sorry," Bobbi apologised to the guy, walking off with George.

"I've been ordered back to D.C. I have to go."

"I know, Coulson's told me everything," Bobbi replied, causing George to smile.

"I didn't tell you where I was one time," George whined.

"And my increased protectiveness means I will never not know again."

"Big sister huh?"

"Yes," Bobbi confirmed. "This is the first holiday I've had in months Sam. I won't let my shot at having a fling ruined by them getting the wrong impression."

"Oh, come on, that guy was an idiot," George argued, regarding the guy who had thought Bobbi and him were together a few missions back.

"An idiot with a nice ass," Bobbi stated.

"Lalala," George cried. "Not something a brother wants to hear." Bobbi smiled.

"Stay safe out there."

"You too," George replied, walking back over to the team. "Anyone want an early lift back to D.C?" he asked. "You're going?" Jane said.

"Yeah. Just got the call. Strike Team Charlie is officially over." George felt heartened when they all stood and shook his hand. Jane giving him a hug.

"It was a pleasure working with you sir," Mack stated, walking George up to his Harley. "I know I didn't make it easy."

"You kept me on my toes Mack. That's what I needed," George replied and Mack gave him a small smile.

"Watch that guy Hunter for me. I think Bobbi has more than a small crush on him."

"Will do Sir," he replied, and George shook his hand in farewell. He had a job to do.

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	15. Chapter 15

**Hey guys, this story is a crossover and an OC so the readers are gonna be minimal so I would really appreciate any reviews from those of you following this story :)**

 **Bit of a dark chapter, sorry :)**

"Are we all clear with your roles?" George asked. He received an affirmative from the room full of agents.

"Good. I want fresh reports on my desk as soon as the new information comes in. Dismissed," George finished. It was odd being back in D.C. George's work with his strike team had earned him a deep respect amongst other field agents. The team after-all had been extremely successful. Apart from Hawkeye and Black Widow, the team had the second-best record for the last year. George didn't mind pointing out to Clint that his 100% success record didn't count when he only did three missions that year. What Sam didn't like was the name his strike team had acquired. There official name was 'Strike Team Charlie', but it seemed other agents referred to them as 'Uncle Sam's Commandos'. A hint at both his name and the 'Howling Commandos' that pre-dated SHIELD. Luckily, the agents knew not to say it to his face. He was respected, not ridiculed.

Coulson stood from his seat to the side and walked out with the younger agent before the rest of the room could file out.

"What do you think?" Coulson asked and George rubbed a hand through his hair in frustration.

"There's no link Coulson. I don't get it. I can't find any traces of stolen Stark tech shipments to Afghanistan.

The only idea I have is it being Stark's plan himself, otherwise how did the person cover it up?"

"Be careful pitching that to the Director," Coulson warned when they walked up to Fury's office. They knocked and walked in. Fury and Hill were stood inside; the information on Tony Stark and the Ten Rings lit up along the long wall.

"You better have good news Sam," Fury stated and George nearly winced at his tone.

"No Sir. We came up short again. There is no evidence of the weapons being sent to the Ten Rings on the black market. It had to come from the top of Stark Industries."

"You're suggesting Tony Stark gave them these weapons?" Fury asked, menacingly.

"It is an option sir," George argued.

"That is not an option," Fury stated sternly. "Howard Stark's son is many things, but not a terrorist."

"Sir…" Hill began, only to be cut off by Fury's hand being raised.

"Find me another option. And for god's sake, someone find me Tony Stark!"

"Sir," the three of them replied, leaving the room.

"I told you to be careful," Coulson scolded.

"Tony Stark's been gone for nearly three months. Why can't he accept that that's perhaps exactly where Stark wants to be," George argued.

"Howard Stark was Fury's friend; you can't just go accusing his son."

"Why not? What difference does that make? Why couldn't Tony Stark be a murderer?"

"Because Howard wouldn't have brought him up that way," Phil stated, only realising his slip when it was too late.

"I am not what Chambers made me!" George yelled in anger and Hill stepped in, holding him back. Coulson looked like he wanted to speak but Hill just shook her head. The damage was done; no point making it worse. "Sam, go home and get some sleep," Hill said, but the kid didn't budge, he just glared at Coulson. "That's an order." George looked at her, and shrugged out of her grip, heading to the lifts. When he was gone from sight Coulson threw his tablet against the wall, smashing it. "Phil," Maria said gently, approaching him.

"Don't," Coulson stated, picking up the broken device and walking towards his office. As soon as he got inside he called Clint. "I need you to check on George."

"Coulson, what happened?" Clint asked worried.

"Just go around to his later, when you're back. I said something I shouldn't have done."

"I get back in an hour, I'll go around then," Clint replied. "Whatever it was Phil, he'll forgive you." "He shouldn't," Phil stated, hanging up.

* * *

"Sam!" Clint yelled, sprinting towards the hangar from the taxi. One of George's bikes was toppled over half way down the track, and Clint could see that the big window was smashed. "Sam!" Clint ran in and stilled. There were pieces of glass littering the floor and a trail of blood leading him across the room. The floor stopped, to be replaced by the sight of red smeared feet. George was sat in the corner, bare footed and shaking. In his hand was a hand-gun pointed straight at Clint. His hair was wet, a gleam of sweat on his brow and his eyes were red raw from tears. "Kid, it's me," Clint said gently, walking forward slowly. He got about half-way across the room when George suddenly fired. Clint's breathe left him as he turned around to see where the bullet had hit. By the side of the door was a target George used to throw his knives at. There were bullet holes surrounding the target, but none penetrating it.

"Why can't I hit it?" George questioned desperately. "I hit him. I killed him. Chambers told me to and I did…I killed him…I killed my dad…I kil…" Clint was moving as soon as George had started talking, hurrying towards him and grabbing the gun from the shaking grip. He unloaded it and threw it out of the way, before gripping George's head.

"Look at me," Clint ordered. "You are not a killer."

"He…he taught me to be…" George whispered and Clint shook him by the shoulders.

"No! You are not a killer! He didn't make you a killer!" George broke and his breath hitched as he started sobbing. Clint held him with one arm, getting his phone out with the other. "Coulson?"

"How is he?" Phil asked concerned.

"I need a med-kit and a lift," Clint stated. He could hear Coulson running from his office. "He'll be ok Phil. He's just shaken up." Phil, however, didn't reply. He couldn't forgive himself for the words he had used. Clint hung up and wrapped his arms around the kid. It was then that he noticed the smashed bottle of whiskey as well. "Hey kid, look at me," Clint said, pulling his head up. Clint looked into his eyes and was relieved when they appeared able to focus. Most of the drink had been spilt and Clint knew it had already been opened. George was still shivering though. It was a cold rainy night and with the window smashed, George was feeling it. Clint leaned him back against the wall, before going over to the bed and pulling off the blanket. He came back and wrapped it around the kid, pulling him into his side, so his head could rest on his shoulder. "You're not a killer kid. Trust me. You're not."

* * *

Coulson drove quickly in his haste to get to the hangar and ran towards it, with the med-kit. He saw the upturned bike and worried that George had crashed it. When he reached the door, he saw the real problem.

Coulson slowly walked over, dropping the med-kit near Clint as he knelt by the other side of George. "I'm sorry kid. I didn't mean what I said," he whispered gently. George looked like a scared boy, without any hope. He started to shiver when Clint let go to reach for the med-bag. Coulson immediately took his place and grabbed the shaking youth in a hug. George rested his head against Phil's chest and wept. The man who had given him this life had inferred he was a killer because he was raised to be one, and now he was here holding him. He continued to shake, occasionally flinching as he recalled the memories from that night. He could feel the recoil of the gun, knocking his small body backwards into Chambers. He could see the blood splatter from his father's chest as he fell to the floor. It all felt so real. It was real.

There was a bottle placed to his mouth and George drank slowly. Someone was encouraging him, tipping the bottle and rubbing his back. He coughed and the bottle was removed for a moment only to return. It didn't taste like water and he felt tired. His thoughts seemed to become jumbled and he couldn't focus on the shape in front of him. He couldn't hear the gentle words. He just closed his eyes and fell asleep.

"It was a strong dose, he'll be out for hours," Clint stated.

"Are you sure this was the best method?" Phil asked, George still in his arms. Clint sighed and knelt on the other side of the kid.

"Whatever you said to him brought out the emotional memory; the one about his father's death. Getting the glass out of his feet won't be pretty. It will make him relive the pain. The memory about his scar. That I don't need to see again," Clint stated.

"Nor I," Coulson agreed, it was indeed better that George was unconscious.

"Has he ever told you what happened?"

"No. Never. He shuts me out whenever I've mentioned his it."

"We all have our secrets," Clint stated, before he opened the med-kit and got to work. Clint let Coulson continue to hold the kid. He knew Phil needed to make sure he was alright. Clint wouldn't begrudge him that.

When all the glass was out, Clint bandaged George's feet and lifted Sam into his arms. Coulson grabbed some clothes and other essentials and quickly packed a bag. They walked to the car in silence, and laid the kid down on the back seat, whilst Phil climbed in the other side. Clint took the keys and started the car up. "Marden street," Phil said, as if it needed stating. Clint was already headed there. George would stay at Phil's tonight, just as he had stayed at Clint's for the first time seven months ago.

"He still shivering?" Clint asked, looking in the mirror.

"Yes," Phil replied, pulling the youth up against his chest, and wrapping the blanket tighter. Clint turned up the heating and sped up the car. They didn't need him getting ill as well.

When they arrived, Phil hurried to open the front door as Clint was carrying George. They made it upstairs and got him to the guest bedroom.

"His clothes are still wet," Phil stated, pulling them off. Clint pulled out a pair of lounge trousers and got

George into them. He held out a shirt to Coulson but Phil didn't move to put it on him. Clint watched as Coulson gently turned George onto his side and looked at his back.

"Phil…," Clint protested as Coulson ran a hand along the scar.

"I need to know what did this to him," Coulson replied. Clint sighed and turned the lights up brighter, before getting a closer look himself. "It's not a knife."

"Or a whip, it's not one cut," Clint added. Coulson looked closer at the ends and suddenly felt ill. He stumbled backwards, feeling like he might throw up.

"Coulson?" Clint questioned, looking at the place Phil had just touched. Clint forced himself to stay calm when he began to understand what had been used against the kid. "Jesus Christ."

Coulson paced for a few steps before grabbing the shirt and putting it on George. He couldn't look at it anymore. Clint remained where he was knelt, hands clenched in anger. "He would have been just a boy. That scar is old," Clint rasped. Coulson remained silent, he pulled the duvet back, and then placed it over the sleeping figure. "I'm going to kill him," Clint said standing. Phil continued his silence, unpacking the rest of George's stuff. "Where is he?" Phil checked George's bandages. "Where is he Coulson!?" Clint yelled, when the man ignored him.

"Chambers is a prisoner," Phil said, not looking at him. Clint snapped, grabbing his friend by the collar and slamming him against the wall. "Chambers is a psychopath!"

"He can't hurt him anymore," Phil argued.

"I don't give a shit! He's going to pay for this!"

"That is not our way."

"And it's not human to drill…" Clint began only to pause when he couldn't bring himself to say it. "He was just a boy. People like that don't deserve to live."

"He…"

"Goddammit Phil. Don't you care?" Clint stated, when Coulson still avoided his gaze. The older agent's attention snapped back to him and Phil gave him a look that made Clint fearful.

"I care Barton. I care about him…that's why…that's why Fury didn't tell me where Chambers was placed. Fury put him out of my reach." Clint let go of him when he saw that his anger was reciprocated in Coulson, just on the inside.

"I'm sorry Phil. Of course, you care," Clint stated, leaving the room. Coulson followed him downstairs. "I should go."

"Do you need a lift?"

"No. I'll walk," Clint replied. "Let me know if I'm needed." Coulson nodded, letting Clint out. Coulson turned in himself, but he felt like he couldn't sleep. The image of a boy being tortured haunting his thoughts.

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	16. Chapter 16

George groaned, rolling over. His bed felt odd; softer. He opened his eyes to see a room that was definitely not his own. He jumped up and winced when his feet touched the floor, making him fall over from the pain. Coulson heard the thud and ran into the room.  
"Coulson?" George asked from the floor as Phil knelt down to pick him up and help him back to his bed.  
"I wouldn't try walking today," Coulson stated. "Perhaps not tomorrow either."  
"Where am I?"  
"My guest-room. You weren't sleeping in that hangar."  
"I don't remember getting here," George said, frowning. He didn't remember much since…since Phil said... "I know you didn't mean it Coulson. I over-reacted and I'm sorry for it." Phil gaped. George shouldn't be the one apologizing.  
"What I said was awful and I deserved a hell of a lot more than you shouting at me. Now come on, I'll help you downstairs," Phil continued, wrapping George's arm over his shoulder.  
"I don't remember hurting my feet," George said as he was led downstairs, wincing.  
"I think you just ignored the pain," Coulson replied, matter-of-factly.  
"Did I break something?"  
"Yes kid. You wrecked your bike and your window."  
"Oh," George mumbled, "I'll fix them." Coulson led George to the sofa and let him sit down.  
"Don't get up," Coulson ordered, causing George to smile. Phil then went into the kitchen and got the kid a glass of water, whilst he turned on the TV to the news.  
Suddenly Coulson's phone started ringing. He frowned and excused himself, taking the call in the back-yard. George relaxed back on the sofa, picking up one of his feet and looking over the bandage; it would need redoing soon. It was about five minutes later when the news got a new headline.  
'Breaking News: Tony Stark escapes from captivity'. George choked on his water and turned it up. Coulson then went back into the room.  
"George, Stark's…"  
"I know," the kid replied, pointing at the screen.  
"Fury's assigned us for the debrief. We've got work to do kid."

"Miss Potts?" Phil asked.  
"Yes," Pepper replied.  
"Can I speak to you for a moment?"  
"I'm not part of the press conference, but it's about to begin right now," Pepper said, watching Tony walk up to the podium.  
"I'm not a reporter. I'm Agent Phil Coulson, with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."  
"That's quite a mouthful."  
"We're working on it."  
"You know. We've been approached already by the DoD, the FBI, the CIA…"  
"We're a separate division, with a more specific focus. We need to debrief Mr Stark about the circumstances of his escape."  
"I'll put something in the book, shall I?"  
"Thank-you."

George stood to attention in his pilot uniform.  
"The future of air combat. Is it manned or unmanned?" Colonel Rhodes asked rhetorically. "I'll tell you, in my experience, no unmanned aerial vehicle with ever trump a pilot's instinct, his insight, that ability to look into a situation beyond the obvious and discern its outcome, or a pilot's judgement."  
"Colonel?" A new voice suddenly called. "Why not a pilot without the plane?" Tony asked, walking up to his best friend.  
"Look who fell out of the sky," Rhodey replied. "Mr Tony Stark." Tony then shook the hands of the nearest pilot; it just so happened to be George.  
"It must be good to be home Sir," George stated, taking the hand. Tony took a step back, then covered and uncovered one of his eyes, staring at George's uniform.  
"Rhodey," Tony called concerned. "Did the Queen take over America when I was away?" The Colonel chuckled, coming closer.  
"Tony, meet R.A.F Flight Lieutenant George Samson. He's here to test fly some of our planes."  
"Trying to steal out tech. Samson?" Tony teased.  
"I have dual citizenship Sir, I would call it borrowing," George replied. Tony laughed.  
"Pleasure to meet you."  
"Give us a couple of minutes, guys," Rhodey said, patting the kid on the shoulder, before walking with Stark to a more private area.  
"Since when do you let the British on your turf?"  
"You should see his record, then you wouldn't care what side of the pond he's from. He can push the machines to the limit, that's what we need… I'm surprised."  
"Why?"  
"I didn't expect to see you walking around so soon."  
"I'm doing a little better than walking."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah. Rhodey, I'm working on something big. I came to talk to you. I want you to be part of it."  
"You're about to make a whole lot of people around here real happy…cause that little stunt at the press conference, that was a doozy."  
"This is not for the military. It's not…it's different."  
"What? You're a humanitarian now or something?"  
"I need you to listen to me…"  
"No. What you need is time…to get your mind right. I'm serious."  
"Okay."  
"It was nice seeing you, Tony."  
"Thanks," Stark replied, walking back. "Yo Brit. Don't break our planes."  
"I'll try not to Sir," George replied.

"Stark came round the base today," George stated to Coulson.  
"And?"  
"He took the Colonel aside, whatever they talked about had the colonel annoyed; Stark quickly left. Coulson, I know their friends, but I'm not sure I'm going to be much help."  
"You never know. Keep it up. Does Rhodes like you?"  
"I believe so Sir. I think he appreciates my work," George began, voice growing excited. "So today…I went out in the F-22 Raptor and I did an inverted dive into a…"  
"George," Coulson interrupted. "I know you can fly."  
"Yeah, but Coulson I was pulling…"  
"Kid," Phil warned.  
"I'll keep up my role Coulson," George stated, more formally.  
"That's what I like to hear. Don't do anything reckless."  
"When have I ever?"

Tony parked up his Audi and jumped out.  
"What's the world coming to when you have to crash your own party?" he asked Obadiah as he walked up to him.  
"Look at you. Hey, what a surprise," the man replied. "Hey. Listen, take it slow, all right? I think I got the board where we want them."  
"You got it. Just cabin fever. I'll just be a minute," Tony said, before going straight to the bar. "Give me a scotch, I'm starving."  
"Mr Stark?" a man in an inconspicuous suit asked.  
"Yeah?"  
"Agent Coulson," the guy stated.  
"Oh yeah, yeah, yeah…the guy from the…"  
"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."  
"God, you need a new name for that."  
"We know. Listen, I know this is a trying time for you, but we need to debrief you. There's still a lot of unanswered questions and time can be a factor with these things."  
"Let's put something on the books."  
"How about the 24th at 7:00pm, at Stark Industries."  
"Tell you what. You got it. You're absolutely right…" Tony continued, before he looked over to the other side of the room. "Is that…? Huh…what do you know…" he said, leaving Coulson to watch confused.  
Tony approached the laughing group of people. It currently consisted of Rhodey, Pepper and the Lieutenant from the U.K.  
"Colonel, Miss Potts, Lieutenant," he greeted. "Funny, I don't remember inviting you?" he stated to the youth.  
"You invited the representative for the RAF's investment," George replied. Tony frowned, but George only grinned. "He's that guy over there," George continued, pointing to the dullest looking person in the room, sitting in the corner. "I was invited by the Colonel."  
"He's new here. Don't look at me like that Tony," Rhodey stated.  
"Like what? …a traitor…no, no…I see. I try to talk about some new ideas and you resort to trying to relive puberty."  
"Tony!" Pepper scolded.  
"Mr Stark, firstly; I'm 22 not 16 and secondly, if I have caused offence…" George began.  
"Hmm what? Oh no kid, I like you. You can stay."  
"Tony…" Rhodey tried.  
"Miss Potts, want to dance?" Tony asked, cutting Rhodey off.  
"Oh, no…"  
"All right. Come on," Tony said, taking her hand anyway and leading her to the dance-floor.  
"I should probably be getting back anyway," George stated. "Busy day tomorrow."  
"Excuse me Colonel?" a woman suddenly stated, cutting George's exit off.  
"I'm off duty," the Colonel replied to the reporter.  
"And this is just a question. How can you morally buy so much weaponry from a company involved in the latest atrocity?"  
"Again, I am not here on duty. If you want a statement from the U.S Government, please go somewhere else."  
"I see. Stark's your friend so you're happy with his zero accountability policy," she stated, taking out a photo. "It's a town called Gulmira. Heard of it?"  
"When were these taken?"  
"Yesterday."  
"Excuse me," Rhodey said, taking the photo and going over to Tony. George turned to leave to meet up with Coulson and update him, but the reporter turned to him.  
"Lieutenant Samson. Does your country support such a company?"  
"I'm here to test the fighter jets, not for politics."  
"Weaponry and politics go hand in hand, Lieutenant," she finished, leaving him be. George made his way out, and found Miss Potts looking rather lost.  
"Lieutenant, you're leaving rather early."  
"I've got an early start."  
"Well, I'm also heading off."  
"Please," George said, holding out his arm as Pepper looked flustered. He led her outside and she waved to one of the bodyguards.  
"Happy."  
"Miss Potts."  
"I'll leave her in your capable hands," George stated, letting the slightly drunken Pepper, get into a car. George then went over to his bike to see Obadiah Stane admiring it.  
"Are you a fan?" George asked. Stane looked up and evaluated the newcomer with a glare.  
"It's an impressive machine," Stane stated.  
"Thank-you," George stated, grabbing his helmet and fiddling with straps. He delayed himself as out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stark walking down the steps.  
"Obi!" Tony shouted. "Did you know about this?" he asked, thrusting a photo into the other man's chest. "Here's the line, we don't cross it."  
"This is how we do business," Obadiah replied, wrapping his arm around Tony's shoulder, and turning away from George.  
"If we're double-dealing under the table…" Tony said as the reporters started taking photos. "Are we?"  
"Tony… who do you think locked you out. I was the one who filed the injunction against you. It was the only way I could protect you," Obadiah whispered in his ear, before letting go of him. Obadiah tapped George on the shoulder smiling as he went.  
"Mr Stark?" George asked concerned, when the man stood there, with a shocked expression.  
"Hmm…what?"  
"Are you alright sir?"  
"Don't you have some piloting to do?" Tony deflected. "Also matt grey? You should throw some hot red in there," he continued, motioning to the bike.  
"That's a little unsubtle don't you think?" Tony shrugged.  
"Good luck tomorrow," Tony said, making his leave. "Don't screw up."  
"I didn't think you cared Stark," George called.  
"I care about Rhodey kid."

George drove off to Coulson's apartment. The senior agent had left the party after seeing Stark, he didn't want to expose George.

"We should look into Stane," George stated, when he entered.  
"What's brought this on?"  
"Stark showed him a photo of Gulmira, where Stark weaponry were found. Whatever Stane said to Stark sent shivers down his spine. I think Stane's our guy. It explains why I couldn't find any trace of shipments. Stane's high enough to destroy all the evidence and do it off books."  
"I'll have people on it. For now, get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."  
"Yeah," George said, going to his room. "Night Coulson." 


	17. Chapter 17

"How she feeling?" Rhodey asked over the comms.  
"Not bad Colonel. She really goes," George stated, shooting over the Pacific Ocean.  
"Yeah she should. Ok, first move; barrel roll."  
"Copy that sir," George replied, taking the prototype into a spin. "Jesus…"  
"Lieutenant?"  
"I'm good. Extremely sensitive joystick sir. Tap it and you've gone 360."  
"Too sensitive?"  
"A little sir. I wouldn't want a spell of nerves in this thing. One jerk and I'm a gonna."  
"We good to continue?" Rhodey inquired.  
"Of course sir. It was hypothetical."  
"Ok Lieutenant. Left arc."  
"Copy that."  
"Colonel Rhodes!" a private shouted, storming in. "You're needed upstairs sir."  
"Give me a second," Rhodey replied, pressing the button that linked him to George. "Lieutenant. Cease all manoeuvres, I will return soon."  
"Copy that Sir," George replied and Rhodey hurried after the private.  
"We have a bogey. We ran an ID check and cross-referenced with all known databases. We have nothing."  
"Any high altitude surveillance in the region?" Rhodey asked.  
"We got an AWAC and a Global Hawk in the area."  
"So this thing just appeared out of nowhere?"  
"How come it didn't show up on the radar?"  
"Got a minimal radar cross-section, sir."  
"Is it stealth?"  
"No, sir, it's tiny."  
"We think it's an unmanned aerial vehicle."  
"Colonel, what are we dealing with here?" the officer stated.  
"Let me make a call," Rhodey said.  
"Hello?" Stark stated.  
"Tony?"  
"Who's this?"  
"It's Rhodes."  
"Sorry, hello?"  
"I said it's Rhodes."  
"Speak up, please."  
"What in the hell is that noise?"  
"Oh, yeah, I'm driving with the top down."  
"Yeah, well, I need your help right now."  
"It's funny how that works, huh?"  
"Yeah. Speaking of funny, we've got a weapons depot that was just blown up a few clicks from where you were being held captive."  
"Well, that's a hot spot."  
"Sounds like someone stepped in and did your job for you, huh?"  
"Why do you sound out of breath, Tony?"  
"I'm not, I was just jogging in the canyon."  
"I thought you were driving?"  
"Right, I was driving …to the canyon, where I'm going to jog."  
"You sure you don't have any tech in that area I should know about?"  
"Nope!"  
"Sir! There's something wrong with the prototype," one of Rhodey's engineers yelled.  
"What?"  
"There's engine failure."  
"Shit."  
"Rhodey, what's wrong?" Stark asked concerned, as he also focused on getting away from the air force.  
"General its not one of ours, you must handle this yourself," Rhodey stated to the office, hurrying off.  
"Rhodey?" Tony asked again, hearing the worry in his friend's voice.  
"Lieutenant Samson's going down."  
"Where?" Tony questioned, also worried.  
"I have to go Tony," Rhodes stated hanging up.  
"JARVIS! Locate that plane now!" Tony yelled.  
"Sir… I do not have the authority to access those files."  
"I'm giving it to you!"  
"Yes Sir," the A.I responded; it had the ability to break in.  
"Lieutenant, can you hear me?" Rhodey asked.  
"The left engines failing… I'm trying to reboot," George replied.  
"Sir, his speed is falling, but altitude is constant," the engineer stated.  
"How far from base?"  
"He's in the middle of the Pacific sir. His navigation is off."  
"Lieutenant, I need you to turn that bird around," Rhodey said.  
"I don't really feel like going to Japan Sir."  
"You wont be. Your navigators broken. You're off course." George took a breath, he was in a death trap, heading in the wrong direction.  
"Copy that sir," George stated, moving the joystick. When the large turn was complete something broke even more in the left engine and it started smoking. "Shit. I've got smoke in the cockpit," George gasped as the fumes filled the small space. The plane started losing altitude and fell into a flat spin.  
"Eject Lieutenant!" Rhodey ordered.  
"Its stuck!" George gasped, as a coughing fit erupted.  
"Eject!" Rhodey yelled. "Lieutenant? Samson, can you hear me? Sam!?" Silence filled the room and Rhodey slammed his fist on the desk. They could only watch as they saw the plane lose altitude and hit the ocean. 


	18. Chapter 18

George was coughing, desperately trying to pull the ejector handle, but the smoke was too much. Just as his eyes dipped closed, he felt the plane be hit by something and a metal hand grab him.  
"J, I need the closest hard surface now!" Tony yelled, holding on to the pilot.  
"Sir, there is a ship nearby, I am sending you the coordinates." Tony was relieved, his suit wasn't built for carrying two for long. He looked down at the kid, his face was dirty from the smoke, and his breaths were ragged.  
"Stay with me kid," Tony ordered.  
…

Next to Rhodes' hand his phone rang. He didn't answer it. A moment later it rang again insistently. Rhodey angrily grabbed it and held it to his hear.

"Rhodey, he's alive. I've got him," Tony stated.  
"What!?"  
"Rhodey, the bogey. It was me. I was in a suit."  
"What? …Samson, he's…"  
"Breathing. What the hell was wrong with that plane?" Stark questioned. He was currently stood on a freighter, standing over the unconscious pilot. Not bad for a day's work.  
"Where is he?"  
"I'm sending you our location. Get over here and pick him up."  
"You have so much explaining to do," Rhodes warned.  
"I know," Tony replied, hanging up. "Wo…easy buddy," Tony said to the now coughing kid, as he rolled him onto his side and removed the helmet. "'Uncle Sam', really? That's your call-sign?" Tony questioned the unconscious youth as he looked at the helmet. Tony then walked up to one of the storage crates and opened it. "Nice," he commented, when he saw the Range Rover within. Stark quickly unlocked it and carried the kid in, turning the heat up. "There you go kid, you keep sleeping," he said. It was not too long before the helicopter showed up. Tony called Rhodey again, telling him where the kid was exactly and then going; he couldn't be seen yet.  
The ship's captain came out confused by the arrival of an army helicopter and reluctantly led the Colonel to the crate with the car inside. Rhodey ran up to the car, opening the back door and finding the pilot. George's eyes blinked open and he saw the Colonel leaning over him.  
"You gave us quite a scare there Lieutenant," Rhodey stated, pulling George up.  
"I hate cars," George moaned confused, seeing where he was laid down. Rhodey only laughed and had to practically dragged him out of the car. George tried to stand, but went into a coughing fit and his legs failed to comply.  
"Easy kid," Rhodey said, getting one of his men to hold George's other side. Together they got him back to the helicopter and got him strapped onto the stretcher; an oxygen mask placed over his mouth. George fell unconscious almost instantly; his lungs really hurt.  
…

"Oh, my God, you crazy son of a bitch," Rhodes stated over the phone.  
"Now are you going to come by and see what I'm working on?" Tony asked.

"No, no, no, the less I know, the better."  
"Brit alright?"  
"Yeah Tony, he'll be fine. Thanks to you."  
"Make him some tea when he wakes up."  
"I think he's a coffee man."  
"What? He can't even conform to stereotypes. Why the hell did you let him fly one of our planes. What even was that thing?"  
"Hammer-Tech. You can't just cancel your military contracts and expect us not to keep investing."  
"Well… stay away from Hammer crap, or the next time I wont be around to save the pilot."  
"Its not my call Tony."  
"See you around Rhodey."

…  
George woke up in a hospital bed. He felt fine, just tired as he tried to recall what happened. Oh yeah… he was stuck in a metal death box, falling over the Pacific.  
"Lieutenant, its good to see you awake," a voice he would recognize anywhere stated. Bobbi had just walked into the room.  
"Bob? What?" he asked as she came and sat beside him. George sat up and she gave him a tight hug.  
"You were supposed to get close to Rhodes, not get yourself killed," she scolded.  
"I'm still kicking aren't I? Where am I, and why the hell are you dressed as a nurse?"  
"You're in the army hospital, Coulson sent me in to check on you."  
"I thought you were on a beach somewhere with that Hunter guy."  
"I was, but then you fell from the sky," Bobbi replied, brushing his hair of his face. "Sam, I have something to tell you."  
"What is it?" George asked, seeing her expression. "Bob?"  
"I'm getting married," she stated. George mouth dropped open.  
"You're… you're marrying him?"  
"I love him." George couldn't help it, he grinned.  
"Bobbi, that's amazing. I'm so happy for you," he cried, hugging her again. "But are you sure?" he sobered.  
"Yes."  
"100%? Because I'll kick his ass if he hurts you."  
"Sam, I'd kick his ass if he hurt me."  
"True," George agreed, thinking about all the times she had kicked his ass.  
"I want you to be my best man."  
"What?"  
"It's a simple concept."  
"You don't want a maid of honor?"  
"Nope, unless your keen on drag. It will be a small wedding, with you walking me down the isle and then standing by my side."  
"Ok," George said, touched. "Wait a minute, does he know about SHIELD?"  
"He knows what he needs to, and though he knows it's a lie, I still say you're my little brother."  
"You know, when I'm old and grey, I would really love it if you and Clint stop calling me little."  
"I'm sure. Now get dressed, you have a debriefing to get to."  
"Bobbi, how am I alive?"  
"I was hoping you could tell me," she replied, before leaving the room to let him get dressed.  
"It was good to see you," he called after her.

"Lieutenant," Rhodes greeted, when he walked out into the corridor.  
"Colonel," George replied.  
"How are you feeling?"  
"Fine sir… I've crashed before so it wasn't too… well I'm ok." Rhodey nodded, though he knew a crash like that could effect anyone.  
"There will be an inquiry into what went wrong, but initial reports show there was nothing you could do."  
"Sir? How the hell did I survive?"  
"You don't remember?" Rhodey asked insistently.  
"Last thing I remember was being trapped in the cockpit with a broken ejector."  
"Well… it wasn't fully broken. It worked eventually and you were picked up by the freight ship."  
"But sir… I wasn't wet."  
"Lieutenant?"  
"If my ejector had worked, why wasn't I wet from the ocean?" George asked.  
"You were Lieutenant," Rhodey insisted and George frowned. "I don't think you should worry about it. If I had just fallen out of the sky, I wouldn't remember either."  
"Is there something you're not telling me sir?"  
"No Lieutenant," Rhodey assured him. "You're dismissed for the day; you can go home."  
"Yes sir," George replied, making his way to his bike and towards Coulson's apartment.

George parked up and entered the apartment. Phil stood in front of him, looking tired, very tired. In two strides Coulson was over to him and had him in a death grip. Phil held him there for a few seconds before calming down a liitle, releasing his shirt and hugging him.  
"I said don't do anything stupid," Phil stated.  
"I didn't… technically," George replied, when Phil let go. Coulson frowned before he moved on, picking up a phone and throwing it at George.  
"Call Clint & Laura."  
"Phil… It wasn't that big of a deal. I'm fine."  
"Call them," Coulson ordered. George gave up, reluctantly dialing the farm's number.  
"Hello?" a little boy's voice answered.  
"Hey Coop… its Uncle Sam."  
"Uncle Sam!" the boy giggled. "Mom! Uncle Sam's on the phone. Uncle Sam, why did you go away?"  
"I'm working kid," George replied, confused.  
"No… yesterday Daddy was worried." George grimaced.  
"Is your Daddy there?"  
"Yeah, but Mom wants to speak to you."  
"Ok… I'll see you soon Coop. Look after Lila for me."  
"Ok. Bye Uncle Sam!"  
"Sam?" Laura's voice called.  
"Yeah its me."  
"Are you alright?"  
"Perfectly, not a scratch on me." George could almost see the frown on her face. "It really wasn't that bad," George argued.  
"We thought you were dead Sam. Between the fall and the confirmation that you were found on that ship."  
"I'm sorry," George said guiltily.  
"I know," Laura stated. "I'll get Clint."  
"Ok." George heard the shuffle and the call from Laura. He also heard Clint's attempts at avoidance. He didn't want to take the call… but Laura wouldn't be denied.  
"Kid," a gruff voice came over the line. "You alright?"  
"Like Bobbi hasn't kept you and Coulson updated." Silence. "I'm fine Clint."  
"Keep it that way," Clint stated, hanging up.  
"Shit," George cursed, placing the phone down and running a hand through his hair.  
"Debrief," Coulson said behind him. George turned to see him stood, with a file and a pen.  
"Jesus Christ, will you two give me a break! The plane malfunctioned Coulson. What do you want me to say? It wasn't my fault." No answer. "Forget it," George said angrily, turning away.  
"Debrief agent." George's hand clenched. He understood they all cared, but there was nothing he could have done.  
"Engine one blew, smoke filled the cockpit, I passed out."  
"And…"  
"That's it."  
"How did you get out of the plane?"  
"My chute."  
"Your chute never deployed George," Coulson said and George turned and stared at him.  
"What?" 


End file.
